Midnight arrived and, as expected, the subtle strains of Guy
Lombardo found its way through the thin apartment walls amid loud cheering and
laughter.
For Tim there was no reason to
celebrate. Depressed and alone, the
happy sounds served only to mock him and make him feel even worse.
His joy and fun-loving spirit had long-since been
wrung from his soul like a wet rag. Between
the three bad marriages, lousy sales jobs, perpetual money troubles, and mercilessly
painful health issues, he couldn’t remember his last New Year’s Eve reverie.
In the dim glow of the nearby corner streetlamp, he sat
upright in bed and stared blankly at his reflection in the mirror. His grizzled face now wore the signs of age
and endless worry. His sullen expression
spoke of a tragic life riddled with sadness and adversity.
Once full of hopes and dreams, his eyes now
told a story of bitterness, pain and defeat.
His ragged, grey beard, dark
circles and wrinkled, blotchy skin made him look much older than his 54
years.
He secretly hoped that this year would be his last.
He secretly hoped that this year would be his last.
“This year,” he mused, “this year will be better, I think,”
as he slowly laid down and buried his head in his pillow, the same tear-stained
one that had muffled oh so many silent screams.
