Joe came from a well-off family. They weren’t uber-rich, mind you. But they were comfortable. He grew up going to decent schools. He wore high-end clothes. He may or may not have worn monogrammed underwear.
When he turned 18, he was going to join the military like his dad, the officer, wanted. But there is a well known saying in the military, “You can’t make chicken salad out of chicken excrement.” We are who we are.
Joe just wasn’t the military type. He was creative, he wrote poetry, for crying out loud. So he went to college instead.
Turns out, the poet was a great student. And he realized something important during college: He liked teaching.
So he got a job as a private tutor. It was a fun gig. He taught the children of a good family, and life was shaping up nicely.
Things got even better when he met a girl. She was lovely. Charming. They became obsessed with each other, constantly annoying all those around them with PDA.
It wasn’t long before
they were engaged. Joe was probably happier than he’d ever been. They started planning the wedding.
Only days before the big event, there was an accident. It all happened so fast. His bride-to-be drowned. The accident happened right in front of Joe. His was the last face she saw.
Joe was catatonic. He had PTSD. Night terrors. He couldn’t stop seeing her face. His friends and family didn’t know whether he would ever get over her.
The worst part of it all, he often said, was the loneliness. Loneliness is the worst sensation in the human experience.
He finally left home for a fresh start. He took a job in a rural town with a tiny population. A town so small they the city-limits signs were nailed to the same post.
He lived in the sticks. He joined a church. Mostly, Joe kept to himself.…