The Old Man

For 20 years the man sat. His hair gone from brown to grey, his skin from taught and perfect to wrinkled and old. The man’s name was long forgotten but his presence was constantly there. No one truly knows why the old man was sitting at his window, neither do I. I never knew the old man. The locals would talk about how he never moved; the women at the checkout line said she had never seen him go through her grocery doors since 1990. I was only a tourist, my father said I should focus on more important things in the small fishing village of Homer Alaska, but all I could think about was the old man.

The first time I caught a glimpse of the old man was from the passenger seat of my father’s Jeep Liberty. I was filled with curiosity on why the old man was simply sitting inside on a beautiful day. The moving car was much too fast for me to take in any details about the old man, but I soon would be able to.

Soon came the next day. I had set up camp with my father right on the beach. The town was so small we could walk anywhere we needed to. I was walking to the local grocery store to get breakfast when I walked past the old man’s house. I slowly examined his face, and he showed that he clearly did not know I was there. The gentleman’s face was pale but showed no emotion his face wrinkled with age, and scruffy from lack of shaving. The man’s eyes were bright blue which would have been beautiful if they were not filled with sorrow. He sat on a hard wooden chair, wearing a simple red plaid flannel. I couldn’t see below his midriff, so what he was wearing for pants were unknown to me.  His bright blue eyes were focused on the end of the old cobble stone street he lived on. I slowly followed his gaze and there was nothing there, just the beach.

I sped up not wanting my father to worry about me being gone too long. I got to the store and bought fruit and pre-made oatmeal for breakfast. I started on my journey back to the camping area. I approached the old man’s house again. He had not moved. I would have thought he was frozen or dead if his shoulders were not moving slightly as he breathed or his eyes blinking occasionally. I continued on as if I was not captivated by him. I arrived back to camp and my father and I quickly sat down to eat. We finished our breakfast, and set out for a fun day of deep sea fishing.

Around one o clock, my father drove the boat we rented back to the shore, and we went to get some lunch and browse for gifts for our family to have when we returned to our hometown. We picked a quiet outdoor barbeque shack, and sat down for lunch. Soon after, we got to the small strip of family owned stores. I was scanning over the rack of postcards when I overheard a conversation the store clerk and a costumer were having. Now, usually I would not be one to listen in on a conversation, but I could not help but be curious.

They were talking about the old man. The two people were talking of the man on Fishwheel Avenue that never moved. The store clerk said he was from Homer and had an identical twin brother. When he turned 18 he was drafted in the Vietnam War along with his twin. They were separated in the war and the man was sitting in their family home waiting for his twin to return from Vietnam. 

This statement seemed absolutely ludicrous to me. Nobody would wait for years and years for their twin to return from a war. It seemed clear in my mind that the other half of the man was dead, weather from old age or becoming deadly injured in the war. I shook out of my deep thinking. I told myself this is vacation, not a time to worry about a person I do not know. I quickly picked out the postcards and went to pay.

I completely forgot about the man for the majority of my stay in Homer. The two weeks flew by like seconds.  At some times, usually when I was walking by his house, I would almost stop and look at the old man, but I would quickly change direction and forget about him again. 

On the day my father and I were set out to depart, we packed up slowly, almost reluctantly. I knew we would both miss the open ocean, the friendly townsfolk, and I would miss the old man. I had not gone to get breakfast yet, as it was early morning.

When my father was loading up our tents I went off to get breakfast. When I past the old man’s house. I was stopped in my tracks. He was not there. I looked around frantically, as if he would appear out of thin air. I curiously walked up the five stairs to the front door and knocked. No one answered. I knocked again. No answer. I slowly walked down the stairs and to the grocery store, deep in thought. When I had gotten our breakfast items, I went to cash out. I asked as casually as possible, if the young women at the register knew of the whereabouts of the missing old man. She told me he lived next to her and there was an ambulance in the old man’s driveway last night. The women also told me that she heard a rumor that the old man must have had a heart attack and died. I thanked the lady and walked away quickly.

The news disturbed me all through breakfast. I could not believe that the old man had passed. When my father was done we decided to have a quick drive through the town to say one last goodbye to the friends we made.

As my father was shaking hands with the man that gave us his boat to use when we went fishing I overheard a couple talking as they walked past me. The old man was only having a burial ceremony. They were not having a wake or anything. Apparently there was not really anyone to be there.  My father began to get in the car and I quickly ran before he left me.

We were on the edge of town when something caught my eye. I had my father pull over and I got out and quietly walked closer. A burial was happening by the old cherry blossom tree in the cemetery. There were only two people in the cemetery. A priest, and an old man who sat by the casket. The old man was in dark blue jeans and a blue plaid flannel. His grey hair was neatly combed and his bright blue eyes stood out.  He would have been real handsome if his eyes were not swimming with crystal clear tears. I walked closer and the old man looked straight at me. I dropped to my knees in despair, the mysterious old man who was haunting my thoughts, and waited for his brother for over 20 years, was dead. I realized the only person there to morn over the death was the man staring at me. He was an identical copy of the man lying in the casket. It was his twin brother.