One Last Night Together - Part One

One Last Night Together – Part One

By Brandon Palzkill

            Duncan spent many of his nights sitting alone in his bedroom, ever since he lost his wife, Angela, in a tragic accident, fifteen years ago. After so long, he might have found someone new; over the years, many people suggested that he let his deceased love rest in peace and move on, however, there was no possibility of ever finding someone like Angela. To him, anyone else could only ever be a pale imitation, and he’d much rather be left alone with his fondest memories, than to try and begin a new life with some cheap knock off.

            For Duncan, living each day became about perpetuating a routine. He would come home from work, cook a simple, single-serve dinner, watch the early broadcast of the news, and then he would lock himself in his bedroom. From there, he would sit in his armchair, and sip on a glass of scotch, while listening to a record on an old, beaten turntable. The record, “When a Man Loves a Woman,” was playing on the jukebox on their first date, and became the first song that they would dance to at their wedding, and the very first note of the organ would instantly transport him back to those happy times, where he could be with her. 

The evening had come, and Duncan had come home to the thunderous silence of his empty home, as usual. He spent twenty minutes preparing his quick and dirty dinner, which he would have eaten in about six minutes. After dinner, he lingered over the kitchen sink, while he washed those few dishes that he had dirtied in the making and eating of his dinner. He looked down at the pattern on his dinner plate and saw that it had nearly faded completely away; it was the only plate that he had ever really used, and when he was done, he would wash it up and put it back on the top of the pile. 

Finishing the dishes, Duncan retreated to his bedroom, an empty whisky glass in one hand, and a bottle of fifteen year old Glenfiddich in the other. He closed and locked his bedroom door, as usual, and set the scotch on a small table next to his armchair, while he fussed with the turntable. Unfortunately, the turntable was old, at least forty years, and it took a little jiggering to get it going. He would never replace it, though; it was the first thing that they had bought for their very first apartment.

While he fidgeted with his temperamental record player, a sudden realization had come to him. He had barely registered the soft, steady thumping, coming from the downstairs study. It took him a few moments before the significance really sunk in, and he became immediately startled by realization; the man who’d spent most of his past fifteen years, alone, had a guest in his home… an uninvited guest, at that.