#98 - The Weeping Man

Today’s words: Nutritious, Alleged, Display, Wax

Word count: 764

Completion time: 47 minutes

Summary: Sometimes you raise your expectations only to be punched in the genitals by the fist of Life, figuratively

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There is a stone statue that stands outside of Waterloo station.

The alleged amount of time it’s been there is undetermined by most, but people who know of him say that they can’t remember a time when he wasn’t there.

A lot of people use it as a landmark, telling friends, family, lovers, colleagues, that they’ll be waiting by the Weeping Man (that isn’t its official name, but the locals have named it so).

People walk by it, amazed by the realism etched in the face, the detail in the eyes, the anguish that seems to capture everyone who regards it; like a wax display at Madame Tussauds. Some say that to look at it carries the curse of a bad love life for at least a year. It’s never been proven, but the rumour continues to spread like a plague in the playground and the office.

This statue wasn’t always made from stone; let me tell you a short tale of how this statue came to be.

A man called Christian got in contact with another man online when he was twenty-two. He was the first person he came out to; not even his mother knew, and she thought she knew everything about him. The guy he met was charming, humorous, and he actually got what Christian was going through, because he too was bisexual.

They talked for months on end until Christian took the plunge and asked to meet up; they both lived in different areas of London, so it was easy to commute and plus, they seemed to be getting along as if they’d known each other since primary school, so what was the harm?

On the 16th of July 2010, after eagerly consuming a nutritious breakfast of avocado on toast, he kissed his mother on the cheek, grabbed his keys, and headed to meet this unnamed man.

It took everything he had not to throw up on the Underground train as he held his stomach and focused on the brown linoleum floor instead. He told himself that everything would be okay: they’d meet up, go to the park, eat a nice meal, and leave eagerly awaiting the next time meet again. They would be together for a few hours, but they would have so much fun that it would feel like five minutes.

He nodded to himself as he wiped a line of wetness from his eyes.

The next stop is Waterloo. Change here for the Jubilee Line, the Northern line, the Bakerloo line, and National Rail services.

His didn’t stand up until the last minute, ordering his legs to move as he stumbled on the platform.

Since the guy was driving there, he told him to meet him outside the station, so that was where he stood.

Fifteen minutes passed and, despite wearing the desired moss-green t-shirt and red skinny jeans, no-one had identified him. He checked his phone to see if he had texted; no luck. Christian cursed himself for forgetting to ask for his number too.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty-five minutes.

Twenty-six.

His phone vibrated.

Grabbing the phone, he opened the text that read: ‘As if, fag. You’ve been stood up xoxo’

Re-reading the message several times, he slipped the phone back into his jeans pocket and continued to wait. There was no way that someone that nice could stand him up. It wasn’t possible, he thought. They had built such a strong foundation, shared so many interests, and it was the first time he had ever felt that way about anyone, let alone another man. Someone must have stolen his phone or something.

His jaw tightened and a lump formed in his throat but he refused to cry. Every muscle was ordered to restrain the tears, but no-one can stop a flood with barriers made of paper.

Night time came but Christian stood where he was, looking forwards, keeping his eyes on a kebab shop opposite the road as if cheap, processed meat had the answer.

The next day, he was still there.

And the next.

And the next.

He refused to move.

Maybe there was a family emergency, he thought. Or a death. Maybe he’s too grief-stricken to text or call. I’m right where I said I’d be; he can’t miss me.

The reality of the situation never sunk in, never become his reality, so he stood there for days, weeks, months, and then years, anticipating a meeting that would never happen.

If you’re not scared of the so-called curse and you look into Christian’s eyes, you’ll understand what it means to be broken beyond repair.