Lemonade Man

There wasn’t a single drop of wine left, or was there a single champagne glass left intact.

The house he had returned to was deserted and lonely and empty like him. And, just like him, about fifty years ago, it opposed its current state. The curtains that once hung from those high walls were either shredded or on the ground, or both, revealing the once-grand, partially shattered window as big as a cinema screen. Sunlight blanketed the polished desk that sat loyally in front of the window, as if watching an interesting show through it. It was the only thing that seemed the way it had used to be was that desk which still sat by that armchair. It still reflected the magnificence of what that mansion had used to be.

He reasoned that why it was still alive was because of the interesting play it was watching. The play was about a pathetic, greedy old man who ended up in jail for murder and money.

When he was young and foolish, and his grandfather was still alive, he had lived here. Every single piece of furniture he could recall was still here and not in pieces, like now. It wasn’t enough for him, at least not for now; five billion dollars, the whole mansion and the casino that was written in his grandfather’s will to him. No, he wanted it now, and that was then.

Insecure eighteen was when it had all started. He had wanted to be rich, to be cool, to be “in”. But, his grandfather refused to let him have a cent just yet. He had needed to learn to be smart with money first. But, he had already been smart with money.

For one sunny Sunday morning, he went into his grandfather’s room, the one with the desk, and slit his grandfather’s throat with a penknife.

Being the only member of the family left, he received everything and more. Within a week, his old brandless car was replaced by a limo. And two weeks later, another one. For years, he relished in his wealth and all things sweet.

By that desk, he had been sipping classily from a glass of unreasonably, pricey wine that had tasted nothing sweeter than any other glass of cheap wine and reminiscing on his school days. Everyday, he had brought a bottle of lemonade to school. The other kids had teased him for it as it had seemed that he could only have afforded a glass of lemonade. Indeed his over thrifty grandfather had refused to give him enough to even buy his own meals.

His school days were spent being beaten up, laughed at and discriminated. Why? He didn’t wear jeans. He wore those cheap baggy pants that were secondhand. And, his shirts were “donated” to him. He had been wearing these for since he was thirteen. It wasn’t like he had grown much taller either. He was puny and small. That’s why they picked on him. He was a mouse---too poor and insignificant to be respected as a human. Amusingly, he could only afford lemonade and it was the low-cost, bland tasting kind. He was a loser, a disaster, a nobody, a friendless…

Lemonade Man

Yes, that was the name they had coined for him. He muttered to himself, not a dozen times but more, “Look where I am now, just look where I am!”

And it was almost one moment later when they barged in and nabbed his comforts in life away. He had been sitting on that same armchair by the desk. In what seemed like three batters of an abashed eyelid, the court cases passed and he was thrown into jail. It didn’t matter how long his stay was because to him, it seemed as long as high school was to him.

Now, he realized the mold growing at the bottom of the desk. After dusting the armchair, he laid his weary back on it and looked out through what was left on that window.

There was a beggar in rags sitting by the swinging gates of his mansion. Regardless of how they seemed or looked, he’d people for money. Some passers-by would give him some spare change, others would spit on him. But, he was used to this anyway. Flippantly, he held up a dirty hand with a bottle of cheap lemonade and brought it to his mouth. Barbarically, he gulped down half of its contents and smiled to himself in satisfaction.