He wavered as he walked down the sidewalk clutching the brown-wrapped bottle against his stomach. Two more, you can make it two more blocks, legs. He looked down at the bottle and imagined the taste, the feel of the amber liquid sliding down his throat, into his stomach, veins, bringing relief to each cell of his body.
Numbing his mind, that’s what he needed most of all.
He looked at the guitar, it’s shiny finish dulled with years of dust. It brought back memories of a life that was no longer his. Friends, wives, children, jobs. Memories that stabbed his heart.
No knocking at his door, not even those toting Bibles. He understood. He stopped liking himself years ago. Stopped liking life itself the past year, or was it longer. It didn’t much matter, he had given up. Overwhelmed by it all. Ready to quit. One day, he wouldn’t get up from the old sofa the boys across the street had carried into his house when their family moved it to the trash.
Trash, that’s all he would be.
There was something about that bottle handed to him each morning all wrapped and ready the minute he entered.
The liquor store lady will miss him.
Photo: Giving Up by Cellar_door_films
Do you know someone who gave up? How can we help those who become overwhelmed with life, or can we? Comments are welcome.