So there was this man, in his late sixties, who often bought drugs from our chemical store. He’d sometimes take the drugs on credit and promise to pay for them later on. He had no money.
He was amazed at how I was always smiling at him whenever he came around, even though he kept borrowing from the store. Well, he thought I understood his situation the most. He’d usually pass by to chat the day off with me at his leisure and would leave by signing off with the usual “So you’re Joseph, the father of Jesus, and I am Charles the great!” We became friends.
He was an interesting man, and I loved listening to him. I offered him a seat anytime he came around, clasped my chin and watched on as he told me everything he knew.
He told me his house was just a stone’s throw away from our chemical store, and had always wanted me to go with him to see his house. Oh, but I was always busy and could never go with him. I was always finding a reason to excuse myself anytime he asked. He kept insisting, and I kept postponing the visit. He had just wanted me to have a look at the house and see where exactly it was.
Three weeks ago today, I was informed he had passed on by this woman who has her store just next to ours. I felt dejected, and was annoyed at myself. So I could never go with Charles to see his house, and now he’s gone?
It was a regretful period for me even more when I later got to know he had told his wife and family he had this friend at this chemical store, but they never got to know who this friend was.
And just this past weekend when he was laid in state, I stood by his mortal remains and told him: “Charles I’m ready, let’s go see your house now!”
An impossible thing to have asked for…