There was a girl once, not long ago, soft and warm and caring, but I got lost in my own angst and ended up with nothing.
Apologia pro vita mea...the story of my life.
Sara Wiltshire is out there somewhere, but I don't have the courage to call or text her. The blame is all on me. I got caught up in my own quixotic quest and ran off to California to learn how to make simple shelters for humanity.
It was chivalrous, being caught up in the romance of noble deeds, but it was all about me. I ended up losing the one person who really mattered to me and deserve the life I now lead.
The above is a snapshot of what goes through my mind and reminds me of why I'm a loser.
I lost my company, stolen by my 'best' friend, and lost my soul mate, because of my own neglect.
I'm sitting on the cellar floor of Marin's maisonette, cleaning the pilot light on her gas furnace. It's a quick fix, unlike the problems I'm confronting.
How could I have been so blinded by idealistic schemes hatched by my own mind and never saw the betrayal of Jeff Forestall who had been ripping me off for a year waiting for the perfect opportunity to completely dispossess me?
I hate myself for being so stupid. As Sara said, I always back the wrong horse. Maybe I have a will to self-destruct, especially since I can't tell a friend from a fiend.
I fire up the furnace and wait until I feel the heat pouring though the registers. I balance the system making sure there are no cold spots in the unit, then pack up my tools and leave.
I stop by the foyer and check my mailbox. There's a refund cheque in the box―it's not much, only a couple of hundred dollars but it'll get me though til the end of the month and allow me to turn up my heat a few degrees and have milk in my coffee.
I smile bleakly at the irony.
Jeff and I started by renovating run down properties and flipping them for a hefty profit.
But I never thought I'd be reduced to this―relying on a government rebate cheque to get me through to the end of the month so I can breathe a little easier.
What was it the ancient Greeks called it―Nemesis?
Yeah, I'm paying the penalty for over-reaching.
I drop my tools off at my unit and head out to the bank to cash my windfall cheque.
It's freezing again, like last night, only the wind seems even more bitter.
And then I see him―the guy I spotted the other night hunkering down in the foyer. He's wearing a threadbare jean jacket and faded khakis, way too lightly dressed for the weather.
Instinctively, my hand goes to my pocket but I'm tapped out―I've got nothing but my keys. He's sheltering in the doorway from the wind. The main door is always locked but the back parking lot door is left open.
I go over and unlock the door.
"Too cold to stand outside," I tell him. "You can stay here and get warm ."
"Thanks, but don't think the Super would appreciate that, Mister"
"I am the Super. Go inside and get warm."
He hesitates, but seeing the wind spinning a vortex of snow, gratefully complies.
If he's there when i get back, I'll give him enough to buy a hot meal at McDonalds. It's not much, but it's the best I can manage.
But I'm not managing much these days.
