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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1362198-Obituary
by petey
Rated: E · Short Story · Other · #1362198
Written for a friend
On occasion, he would walk up the stairs quickly, just to hear his footsteps at a different pace than normal. He would prepare his food a little bit differently, only to see if he noticed the change. Sometimes he would chew his meal only with the teeth on his left side, and sometimes only the right. He loved to experiment with the way his body reacted to different things; a different order for daily activities, for example.

It seemed to most that he did these things for no reason – a mindless pastime for the poor old man. But to the wise, it was apparent that the man had a greater perception of mankind’s thoughtless trudging through life. He constantly peered deeper into the human mind itself. One day the man took his experiments outside his own home. He escaped the sanctity of his place of residence to perform experiments on other people. He would place things in the sidewalk that had not been there the previous day. He would move things from their original place, like trashcans, for example. Sometimes he would order things from restaurants that were not even on the menu, just to see if the waiters noticed that he was ordering an imaginary culinary delight.

Only a few people, as I previously stated, realized that he was doing something for the greater good – realized that he was mapping the human response to physical changes in one’s environment. I was the only person that confronted him about it.

“Why are you doing this, old man?”

“Doing what? I am merely going through my daily routine. The fact that I do it outside of my home should not cause distress. Please do not bother me – I am quite busy.”

“I think that what you are doing is a good thing.”

“What?”

“Yes. I think that you are doing this town a huge favor. Recording the way we react to different things - things out of the daily norm.

“Well that is the objective...”

“I would like to join–“

”No!”

“But sir...”

“Look. I am an old man, nothing left to hope for in my life. In fact, my life is slowly dwindling to an almost catatonic state. This is the only thing that is keeping me together - this ‘mapping’ of the human response to changes in its environment. I would greatly appreciate it if you let me do this alone. Have a good day.”
“Bye.”

I continued on with my day, and as usual I went to the grocery store that evening to buy food for my meal. Every day I liked to go to the store, and – based on what I saw – make a decision on the food I was going to eat that night. This night, as I walked through the aisles that I so commonly walked through, I noticed something different, something that was not there on the previous night. It struck me as odd that something would be out of place, and I hadn’t seen the loading trucks that day. Then I remembered the old man and his antics. It occurred to me that it was likely that the old man was right on the other side on the aisle, taking notes as to how I reacted.

And he was. I walked up to the old man, and asked how I did as compared to the other people who had confronted this same dilemma of food out of its proper place. He told me that he did not compare the results or give them any grade. He merely recorded the outcomes, and went on to other experiments. He said that each day was a ‘new experience’ for the people on which he experimented.

At first, I was upset that I had been subject to one of his ‘investigations’. That night, I went to sleep thinking about what I could have done better, or what I should have done instead of ponder why something was out of place. However, in the course of the following days, I realized that this is exactly what the man wanted to happen. He wanted us – the ‘victims’ – to think about our daily actions; not just walk through the motions of life.

I decided I was going to tell my findings to the old man. I figured it would make him appreciate his work more. I walked to a usual spot of his – the small concrete walkway through the park that served as a median between the strip mall and the small neighborhood in which most of the town’s residents lived. When I went there, I did not see him. I looked closer, and still, he was nowhere to be found; as far as I could tell. I even looked up in the trees; and still he was nowhere. I stopped looking there, and went to walk around the stores in the strip mall. I gave up my search all together after not finding him there. I went home and read the newspaper. Nothing new. It started to rain outside. I really liked the rain – it helped calm me down. In fact, I always hoped for rain. This seemed strange to most people; they always hoped for a sunny day. But I was different.

The months progressed, and I had not seen him since our confrontation in the grocery store. I had not even noticed any changes at all. But that man made such a strong impression on me. Now, when I walked in the park, I would notice any change, no matter how small. It’s like my mind was taking notes on everything did; and when anything was different, it would set off an alarm in my head. I started to actually listen to what people said, not just hear the vocalization of syllables coming from their mouths.

I guess the man really made an impact on how I lived my daily life; everyday his ‘experiments’ had an effect on what I did, even if it was just notice the coffee smelled different that morning.

One morning, I was reading the paper as usual, and I decided to read the obituaries. Unbeknownst to me, the poor man had died the previous day. Was it a coincidence that I had decided to read the obituaries today? Maybe, but that did not change the effect reading it had on me. I was severely depressed for the next few days; I didn’t even go to work. But I read the obituaries every day now. And every time the obituary writers left a phone number, I called the number to express my condolences. And when they asked who I was, I would give the old man’s name. I’m not really sure why I started using his name for this, but I did it nonetheless.
© Copyright 2007 petey (spoom at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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