My Body Does Not Belong To Me

I struggled parking my car. The driveway of the boarding house was pretty narrow.
I looked at the clock in my car, 14:43. In front of me lay the rocky roadway. I left this area a long time ago. Almost more than 7 years have passed, the bare look at the boarding house didn't stop the time. I stayed sitting in my car. I left the engine running while the eternal classic Somebody that I used to know was playing on the radio. The only thing I was thinking about at that moment were the windows of the building. They were dim, just like the weather. The times were dim, just like we were.
I was out of focus but I saw someone's hand waving at me. The old receptionist was inviting me isnide. I didn't want to be rude but I shook my head anyways. He didn't mind, instead he came outside and started towards me. I noticed his smile on his otherwise gloomy face. It was meant for me. I stayed sitting unnoticed in my car. He opened the door and offered me his hand, I had no other choice but to get out of the car. His harsh hand wrapped firmly around my fingers. I just went with the flow. I stepped out of my car, my helper was still holding my hand. In a moment I was left without his help, alone. I looked around to see where my caring aid went. His body was leaning over the trunk, trying to get my bag. Judging by his movements, he had very little life force left in him. His spine was bent from many years of hard work and it wasn't something a person could easily hide. His belly was touching the rim of the trunk so it wasn't so easy for him to lift my bag out of it. He noticed me staring so he smiled a bit and nodded to let me know that it's alright. I felt like a child that needed encouragement to get on the stage. I remained in one place for a couple of minutes, then I decided to step forward. Behind the glass corner of the building, rows of granite cubes lined the pathway. The heels of my pumps constantly got stuck in the space between the cubes so moving forward became a real challenge for me. I took a couple of steps even though my pumps made me feel like I wasn't moving forward at all.
That's when I saw him, a man in his early thirties. His blue eyes were covered with wrinkles created by life. It's unbelievable how life marks humans. His face was showing a weird kind of calmness, he drifted away. His stare was static, his body wasn't showing any signs of life. For a moment I felt this pain in my body, his state pained me. I simply felt sorry for him. The cage that he lived in anguished me, the life that he didn't pick himself.
You can't be angry with a man like this, you can only feel pity for his fate. I think he was aware of this and that's why he was upset about my presence at the boarding house earlier. He used to tell me that I didn't give him enough space to be happy. My presence reminded him of the evident state. The state in which he was convincing himself that he can live contentedly while fulfilling others expectations.
From time to time he would apologise but his "I'm sorry" didn't really touch me. The words that would leave his lips were too weak, empty like a tunnel. Sometimes he would come up behind me and whisper "I'm sorry" silently, maybe even a bit sadly into my hair. It never lasted long, the next day he would carry on living by the social worldviews. His struggle to meet the expectations of his family and environment was just too much for his spirit. He betrayed his soul and hurt himself, creating scars which were now visible on his face.

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