Dancing Old Man

The TV light flickered in his dark apartment as he sat in his warm, worn-out leather chair. Another news report on his television about a city bombed and the progress of the war. Nothing new that he hadn’t seen and lived before. A half eaten TV dinner cooled off while he finished his cigarette, staring blankly across the room. He closed his drooping eyes, hoping it would be the final poison that would finally take its toll. "How many of these do I have to smoke before they finally kill me." He muttered under his weak breath to the gloomy apartment.

Slowly, with his bones aching, the old man pushed himself up out of the chair and walked to the phone. No new messages, nobody had called for weeks. He couldn't remember if his children knew he had a phone. “They must not know” he muttered to himself. With that unconvincing lie he returned to his worn out seat, where he waited for sleep to relieve him of his nightmare.

Waking up from a dream he called out for "Carol", but the lonely silence reminded him that she died long ago. Now awake, he sat in the quiet, pitch-black night refusing to turn on a light. A moment of memory flooded his mind as he remembered her intoxicatingly seductive smile that was painted on her face frequently throughout life. The sound of her humming some song she forgot the words to echoed in his ears. His nostrils were overtaken with the scent of her lilac perfume. Eventually, his mind released him and sleep returned.

Fire from the morning sun fell upon his wrinkled face as it blinded him through his thin eyelids. Hesitantly he turned his head away from the light coming, thinking that would prolong his slumber, but as the room became too illuminated he was forced to wake up.

Outside the city buzzed with life; traffic in the distance, sirens on the streets. Water poured through the filter into the coffee pot, filling the apartment with the strong aroma. The warm liquid hit his tongue; the first taste of the new day. His dark pupils dilated as caffeine entered his tepid bloodstream bringing him back to life.

Shuffling gracelessly the old man approached the calendar on the wall that had an “X” on everyday except Tuesdays, where he puts a check after each one. He smiled with the realization that today was Tuesday. In the bedroom he carefully chose what to wear. With a hint of pride in his movements, whistling an old love song his frail fingers buttoned up his shirt.

At five o’clock he left the apartment on his way to the only place left in the city where they still have his type of dancing. Every time he walked down 3rd street it seemed different and unrecognizable; constantly changing throughout his life. But on Tuesdays, his eyes pictured it as it was before. The drug store on the corner was once again the butcher shop where she would buy the meat to cook dinner. The streets weren't crowded with mindless drones refusing to acknowledge each other as they pass. Instead, they were full of fresh, friendly faces that greeted one another.  The old man tipped his hat at a young mother and smiled at her daughter as he walked by his favourite diner that is now a McDonalds.

“I hate working Tuesday nights, all these old people dancing to their old, s****y music.” The young waitress said to Maria.

“It’s nights like these that make me glad I have this job. I love it, it’s beautiful; he’s beautiful.” Maria responded watching the old man walk through the door.

“Who? That old man you always dance with? If you ask me, he’s creepy. Look at the way he stumbles in here. He has such a hard time walking, how can he even dance?"

"I don't know. But when he does it's magnificent the way he delicately glides with me across the floor. I've never danced with anyone as good as him. Most men my age just want to rub all over and grope  me on the dance floor as they push their body against mine. He...he stares into my eyes as we sway back and forth. I don't know how he does it or how it's even possible, but somehow he moves like a twenty year old. I've never seen someone so at peace as he is while dancing.

“Hello Carol! You look beautiful tonight as always!” the old man cheerfully said as he passed by unaware of their conversation.

"Why does he call you Carol?"

"He thinks I'm his wife."

"What's he going to do when this place closes next week?"

"He'll probably die" Maria said holding back the sadness from filling up her eyes with tears.