Blank-faced

What was wrong with him? It had happened again. He’d gone to the party full of hope. He thought that perhaps he’d find someone to share his life and bed with. He chatted with anyone who was unattached and tried to make suitable small talk. He’d learnt it was best never to be ‘too anything’; ‘too loud’, ‘too enthusiastic’, ‘too drunk’ or ‘too ambitious’. His lighthearted banter even raised some smiles, but everyone moved on giving a polite excuse and left him stranded; beached like a human whale without a pod to swim along with.

He certainly wasn’t good looking, but he was at least presentable. By midnight when fireworks lit the sky and people kissed and hugged, he was standing alone. He knew he had no chance of making a date for a New Year coffee, drink, anything. He felt he had quite a lot to offer including owning his own flat, having a fairly well-paid job and even a new-ish car, but it was as if everything he did had no purpose and received no recognition.

He didn’t think he was depressed, well no more than usual, but he couldn’t help wondering if he had any value for anyone, except his boss who couldn’t have survived without him. However, that wasn’t enough to make his existence meaningful. He set his face into its everyday expression of nothingness in readiness for the working day. As he closed the door of his flat a shadow of a smile crept across his face. He realised that if he bought a pet of some sort at least the he’d be sure of some form of affection and possibly even adoration and that might just make his life worthwhile.