O..

O..

Seemed O was in a bit of a mess, although "out of his depth" would be a kinder description, the reasons why his feet were no longer touching the ground were not entirely unknown to him. Others, close to him had suffered similar calamities but this was the first time in his so far peaceful existence that the trappings of family had become personal. A not entirely unforseen death of a loved one, his wife of 28 years, through suicide, had rocked him to the core. ‘It never rains it pours’ O’s wife would have been fond to point out to family members enduring what he was now, and he’d always knowingly agreed. Knowing that she was always right and ran the roost, the roost from which the chicken’s had now escaped..

Not for the first time now O’s dearly departed wife sounded, to O, as being full of shit. Come to think of it this would’ve been exactly the sort of drivel she’d have come up with when consoling a grieving family member. Something about rain or sunshine or silver linings. It all sounded bloody hollow now. The chickens had done, he was told, the predictable. They’d hired the best lawyers they could afford and slaughtered each other in court over mother hen’s meagre fortune. Apter clichés for his predicament ran through his head but a promise to his beloved wife regarding swearing stopped him saying anything profane out aloud. Would such promises still be binding if one found oneself in these sorts of troubled times? O, wondered briefly. He’d been having a lot of these unsettling sorts of thoughts lately and he was still a little afraid of what she’d say, if she, somehow, knew. O struggled to think of something cheerfully apt she might also have said, but found, for the life of him, that he couldn’t..

What O didn't know was that his wife had long seen it coming. ‘Pack all your troubles in an old kid bag and smile, smile, smile..’ is what she’d told him he should tell the brood if anything happened to her. He’d put it down to a major senior moment although that was exactly what he’d been doing since she’d gone to meet her maker; smiling like the deranged idiot which, everyone afterwards, would point out his unfortunate wife had become. There had been early signs and clues ofcourse, but he’d never told anyone. Not his kids, not even his wife. Whenever O’d been remotely interested, say when there was a break in the cricket on telly, he had observed others deal with the mad, so why should he? He knew of the havoc raging through his family’s life, and he always, faithfully, agreed with his wife’s assessments and the hollow platitudes she would offer, however kiltered they in hindsight sounded..

What comforting cliché would you’ve come up for this one bitch? O caught himself thinking before it was far too late. What would she have said to the chickens who we now accusing O, and each other, of causing mother hen’s mental collapse? What timeworn, slightly roasted saying would she have come up with? Share and share alike? Fat chance, O realised, of that. For the last week O had to do his own cooking, cleaning (and particularly painful; make the bed he swore was still warm) and now he was expected to glue the family together? O knew it was time for him to ‘stand on his own two feet’ and realise ‘the first step is always the hardest.’ Trouble, for O was, he’d never done so before. And worse, he’d never bothered to learn from the things which drove his wife insane. It dawned on him now they were connected but he’d run out of warm chestnuts to explain why. What he did know though; this winter he was going to starve..

Still, there was always the internet porn he’d recently become addicted to. Not surprisingly this particular does she somehow know about this guild had been the first to pass. Perhaps it was nature running its course or maybe O no longer cared. He’d even come up with his own half-arse saying to comfort himself: ‘God rewards those who’ve lived a good life with never conceived off before opportunities.’ Which even to O at times sounded more like an excuse then a reason, but hell, like swearing, there was no one to give him shit no more. O had never intentionally wanted to enter the world of internet porn. He’d seen things on midnight sport channels, knew of people that knew of people who’d surfed the net for smut and filth but he’d never dared look..

Sure, he had his own internet account, through the urgings of grandkids, on Facebook but he’d always tout himself to his wife that even though O might be a silver surfer he was not tempted to surf the surging dark rollers breaking amongst more innocent swells. “The grass is never greener on the other side of the fence” O had lovingly reassured her when they’d first gotten connected. However, the night after the funeral, checking the inbox for messages of condolences, which had poured in surprisingly few in number, he’d gotten distracted by a small hot or not? advertisement. Oblivious to his actions he’d clicked on ‘yes’. On a woman, if he’d pass her on the street, would never have recognized; thus entering a world of cheap (he’d found a good use for the credit card) gratifications and harsh (at least for the first few nights) internal battles..

O had found her hanging from the very branch she’d promised to hang herself from. Deep down he knew the brood were not to blame. If only, like them, he’d jumped when the madness started brewing. “You left her stewed too long” they’d said. “Stewed too long in the madness, till she boiled over without you there to release the pressure.” But what did it matter now that he’d turned a blind eyes to events. Yeah sure, he could’ve paid more attention to her and let the brood know but they’d not experienced the sense of freedom since he’d cut her out of the tree. The reason why he should accept anymore responsibility now he was the Head of the Family then when he was just her husband, continued to escape him. After all, he could remain as useless as he’d always been..

He’d come to see now that none of the brood would welcome this old rooster back, so O, resolute for the first time in his life, declared himself independent of the emotional tyranny family brings. Only yesterday he had to justify himself to the barflies; “behind every strong woman stands a powerful man” he had exclaimed wildly whilst buying them all another round. Yes, that's right;barflies, for yes, sadly, the drink too had caught up with O. During the funeral, as it happened. And he’d only wanted to get away from the ever hollower sounding platitudes..

The doors of The Little Red Rooster (yes, to O also it had seemed like divine intervention) had stood wide open as the progression went past on their way to O wife’s final resting place when O, not quite understanding how he’d found himself somewhere unintended, became surrounded by understanding angels propped up along a dimly lit bar. This was the first time in O’s life that he’d felt his feet lose touch with the bottom, she was no longer there, for how long that had really been O could no longer tell, all he knew in the meantime he’d developed a healthy thirst..

O knew he could outlive the lawyer letters. He was forever telling everyone so. He’d outlived everything life had thrown at him so far, proving him a true survivor. A battler who’d learned to roll with the punches, forever hope full of the prophesied sun shine after the rain had gone. The brood, believing they could see straight through his act, just saw him as a useless old wanker. He’d come to realise their insults were just more the power to him for squandering their inheritance. His game plan seemed to be that they’d eventually stop moaning and leave him alone with his on-line girls and barfly mates at The Rooster..

Then, one day, and try to wrap your head around this one, I realised I’d completely wrongly misassembled the clues and overheard scraps of conversation. You’d be as disappointed as I was learning the hours spend grieving for what never really was had been in complete vain. This was the day when O’s wife came walking into the backyard...