Experience (Character Sketch)

Experience

         As the man walked down the forest path from his house, he muttered to himself under his breath about his golden age. These were his younger years when, without much effort on his part, he could enjoy himself and could be happy just to be alive. He found that reminiscing was one of the best ways to pass the time on his walks to and from town. He thought about the yellow retriever named Honey he used to own as a boy. He thought about his parents, now long dead, who had loved him every day of his childhood.          Most of all, he thought about Caroline. The name conjured up memories as thick and real as the trees he was passing by. Caroline was his life, his everything. The day she became Mrs. Maximillian Lousseau was truly the happiest day of Max’s life. Max had loved Caroline from the moment he met her, until the moment she died. That blasted curse, which modern science calls cancer, took Caroline away from Max. The reaper had decided that it was her time, and just when Max had really begun to settle in to old age, she had been carried off to, hopefully, a better place (Max wasn’t sure anyone could be certain about that part). Like the delicate dance of the leaves that were billowing around Max’s trenchcoat-covered ankles in the autumn breeze, Max’s time with Caroline had been surprisingly sweet, as well as agonizingly short. To him, it had gone by faster than the blink of an eye.
Time really does seem to fly sometimes, and Max knew that better than a lot of people. Sometimes, time does far more. Sometimes, it rockets us off, until finally, it stops, leaving us with only a vague awareness of who or where we are, accompanied by some scrambled memories.
         Max knew he shouldn’t think so much about the past. He didn’t need his doctor to tell him that, though Carl Zaber had done just that, and on more than one occasion. Dr. Zaber was probably the closest thing Max had to a friend these days. Dr. Zaber cared for Max, tried to keep him healthy, and reminded him to keep his chin up. Dr. Zaber had told Max that it wasn’t healthy for a man of his age to be depressed. His body would become more prone to sickness, and, naturally, so would his mind.
         Max wasn’t worried about becoming sick, though. He knew he could battle off whatever physical diseases came his way. As for his mind, it might have been a little muddled due to all of his recent alone time, but he still had most of his marbles. At least, he had enough sense to make his trip to the post office in Derry every week.
This particular trip seemed to last longer to Max, and he would wonder about that afterwards. By the time he had gotten to the “Welcome to Derry” sign, he had already exhausted most of his childhood memories. He stood at the edge of the forest path for a little while, admiring the way the afternoon sun made strange silhouettes through the holes in the canopy of the trees. He let the wind play through his wispy strands of white hair, closing his eyes to enjoy the entire sensation. He sighed, put his head back down into the wind, and began to walk through the streets of Derry.
         The post office, which was quite old, was not far from the road leading to Max’s house, yet it was far enough that Max had time to see what was new in town. Not many people were out of their houses. And why should they be? Why not enjoy the Saturday afternoon with friends and family members indoors, where it was cozy and warm? Max hadn’t been to a family get-together in years. He didn’t have a car, and no one in the family wanted to make the long trip from Pennsylvania, where the rest of his family lived, all the way up to Maine, just to visit him. Max liked it that way. He preferred not to be disturbed in his retirement, yet he so often was. Nevertheless, he thought that today might be a good day. A day in which his memories could continue their march across his mind uninhibited.
         His hunch proved true for a little while, and, for a little while at least, Max was content. However, his musings finally were interrupted. About ten seconds after he had rounded the corner onto the main street, he spied two young boys playing in their yard. Max observed the two boys with mild interest. They both looked to be about ten years old but were apparently of no relation to each other. They were playing a game of catch with a moldy old baseball and a pair of large, weather-beaten baseball gloves. Max didn’t give the boys much thought, and they replied in kind. Max didn’t care if they ignored him; he was used to it. In fact, it made him happy to be ignored. It meant he wouldn’t have to go about the tiresome and tedious task of entertaining someone else with a conversation. He was quite content with the company of his own thoughts.
         After Max had bypassed the few looming houses that lined the sides of the northern half of Main Street, he proceeded into the town square. There wasn’t much to look at. All the square was composed of was the general store, the small excuse for a public library, the town hall, the police station, and Max’s destination- the post office. In the center of the square was a small park, filled with trees and children’s play equipment. The post office was located on the opposite side of the park to Max, so he was forced to travel through it if he wanted to get to his goal. On his way through the park, he passed a rusty old seesaw and some rusty swings that were creaking in the soft wind, along with some old park benches where the parents usually sat while their children played with each other. Some days during the week, Max would come to the park just so he could sit at one of these benches and read a book he’d gotten from the library across the street.
         Once he’d gotten to the edge of the park and was only twenty feet from the post office’s front door, Max paused again. He looked up into the sky and saw a flock of geese flying south for the winter in their famous V-formation. After they had passed him by, Max gave out a sigh and trudged up to the post office door, opened it, and proceeded inside. It was warmer indoors, and his trenchcoat began to feel hot and heavy on him. He looked around and saw exactly what he had expected. What he saw was the front desk with Mrs. McGunner sitting behind it (her face was hidden behind a paperback romance novel), the line of post office boxes that belonged to Derry’s inhabitants, the waiting chairs and reading magazines on their tables, and the framed paintings of some far off places Max had never been to.
Max went over to his box, spun his combination on the dial without paying much attention to what he was doing, and opened the box slowly. It gave an ominous creak as it opened. Inside was also exactly what Max had expected. Nothing. Absolutely nothing was what was in the box. This might seem disappointing to some people. Some people might be outraged at the complete waste of time that the walk had turned into for Max. Max, however, wasn’t upset at all. He enjoyed his weekly travels. After all, it was the experience, and not the destination, that made the journey interesting. Max was just happy that he could still get out of his house every now and then.
         With a flick of his wrist, Max closed the door on the box, turned around with a sweep of his coat, and walked back to the door to begin the journey home, without so much as one word exchanged with Mrs. McGunner. He expected the journey back to be as uneventful as the journey up had been. And that was precisely the way Max liked it.