The Unkempt Man (2nd Draft)

He sits alone at the bar as he does night after night. His misanthropy radiates from like a shield keeping his fellow patrons away. He hears them whisper at times and in the whispers he hears speculation as to what brings such a wretch, not just amongst them, but into the world at all. Those he called friend at one time come from time to time and silence the whispers with the truth. His friends, he once thought of them as brothers but now he cannot help but hate them for their kindness. They rob him of his indifference.

They are on a day out and, as ever, he teases her for her over caution on the roads. He makes a joke and they both laugh though she not as long nor as loud. Later the joke is forgotten. There is no laughter. His smile is forever lost.

At one time he would have envied his frame on another man. He is lean and strong, not from consciousness of health, but chiselled from abuse. His clothes hang lose, fitting the man he once was rather than what remains. They are wrinkled; his clothes, and stained from days of wear and offend the nose as much as the eyes. His beard, once trimmed and neat now grows wild and wire like. His hair grows long and un-styled. The whispers, they call him a mess, a tramp, a bum. At one time he would not have dreamt he would ever sit amongst them. The drunks, the whores, the dealers, the junkies; they are scum. And yet even they look down on him.

He complains about it every time. He has no patience to sit at peace for the short time it takes her. She jokes that his hair promotes her. As ever, he sits eventually. She has been on her feet all day and is taking the time now to make him look presentable to the world. He does not think this and so sits and grumbles. She does not complain. Not once.

He works in the outdoors now, hand manual labour that requires little thought. He destroys and does so with an un-envious zeal. To his employer he is perfect; quick, efficient and low maintenance. He thought himself too soft before to work like this. He does not see the irony now.

In the hospital he lays amongst family and friends. Well wishers, he would rather they leave. If not for the well wishers he could be gone now. The pills he was given to help him sleep would not have gone to waste. Twenty-four pills and still he is not allowed to escape. He has trouble sleeping still.

At home their bed remains un-slept in. He refuses to disturb it. He sleeps on the couch. He always liked film and televisions and still watches both. The comedy does not make him smile, the drama does not move him. Despite his own decay his care for their pets is beyond par. When he returned from the hospital the cats seemed to understand. They never leave his side and have become to him the last fragments of her soul.

He has no care for the opinion of others. He does care for himself nor his health. He has alienated his friends and family. His clothes are untidy and he drinks alone. He is The Unkempt Man and I hope never to meet him. He is dirty, he is repulsive his beard grows wild and his hair is long because you are gone. He is The Unkempt Man and you will never know him, for he is me without you.

For Michelle,

Keeping me tidy, sane and happy since 1999.