Here's an excerpt from my upcoming book, Subhuman.
Rod lived alone. He was 76 years old, in generally good health, and fiercely independent, he thought.
His wife had died four years ago now. She'd had a long battle with breast cancer, but she couldn't hold on any longer. He wasn't disappointed, though. She'd lived a good life, and she told him she was ready to go when it was finally time.
What did get to him, though, was the loneliness. He very much missed spending time with his wife and his children.
He had lived a good life, so far, too. He'd been born in Maryland, then moved with his family all over the country. Eventually he settled in Colorado Springs, around 40 years ago.
Rod had joined the Air Force, following in his father's footsteps. While overseas in Germany, he'd met his future wife, Marianne, who happened to be on vacation from France at the time. After only a few days together, the two of them decided to get married.
Those were the days, he thought. The two had been inseparable after getting married. They both came back to the States, Marianne moving in with him in a tiny apartment, at first. Eventually they were able to scrape together enough money to buy a house, and they started planning for a family.
Before the two of them knew it, Marianne was pregnant. Rod was ecstatic: he wanted nothing more in the world than to be a father.
Nine months later, their son, Phil, was born. The three of them were a perfect family, Rod thought. By then Rod was already 29 years old. He was ready to settle down and start a real family.
He retired from the Air Force shortly after the birth of his son and took a job with the government instead. The hours were better, which meant he had more time to spend with his family.
When Phil was around a year old, Marianne and Rod decided to have another child. Not much later, Marianne was pregnant again.
Soon enough, the two found themselves the parents of a newborn, yet again. As Rod held his baby daughter, Melinda, for the first time, he knew that their family was complete.
Phil and Melinda grew up faster than the blink of an eye, and before anyone even noticed, Phil was already going off to college.
Not unsurprisingly, he moved away from Colorado Springs to go to school. Hell, even Rod knew what it was like being around his parents at that age.
Having Phil out of the house was a change for Rod and Marianne. After so many years of having two kids running around (and occasionally, even staying for dinner), it seemed quiet. When Melinda moved out the following year, it became even harder. Of course, the upshot was that Rod and Marianne had their freedom back. It was almost like starting to date all over again.
Melinda stayed in town. In fact, she'd never lived anywhere outside of the city.
Soon enough, Phil graduated from college with a degree in civil engineering. He found a job in Dallas and moved out there.
He was a good kid, Rod thought. He was never any trouble growing up: in fact, if anything, he was too devoted to doing his part to support the household.
Several months after moving to Texas, Phil met a woman named Lauren. The two started dating and got married a couple of years later. Not long after that, Lauren was pregnant.
Soon after, Rod and Marianne found themselves the proud grandparents of a baby boy, Darren. The feeling of being a new parent was one thing, but it didn't even compare to the feeling of being a new grandparent.
In the blink of an eye, Darren was already going to elementary school.
One day in particular–March 11th: Rod would never forget–Darren was staying with his aunt, Melinda. Phil and Lauren were taking a well-deserved vacation back in the Springs. The two went out to go sight-seeing and decided to leave Darren behind, since he enjoyed spending time with Melinda.
They must have decided to drive to the top of Pikes Peak.
Nothing can describe the feeling of finding out that the news report about the car that drove off the edge of the road was being driven by your son.
It was a terrible situation. Rod and Marianne were despondent, practically unable to function. No doubt Melinda was upset, too, but she graciously looked after Darren for the next several weeks.
After the funeral, life was never the same. The first few months were hell.
Gradually, though, life went on. Darren adjusted to a permanent life with Melinda, who never met the right man or had any children, though she'd always wanted a child. It seemed to be a win-win situation.
As Darren grew older, he seemed to be the opposite of his father, turning up his nose at science and engineering. The military wasn't right for him, either, it seemed. Darren was more of a creative type, always into art and poetry. Though it bothered Rod, he never would have said anything. After all, Darren had enough on his plate without judgment.
At some point, it became clear that Rod wasn't going to go to college. He practically had to be tied to a desk just to finish high school.
After he got his diploma, he moved to New York City to live the kind of life he wanted. Unfortunately, getting a job was never part of his plan, and he returned home to Melinda around six months later.
With increasingly forceful prodding, Darren finally got a job at a call center and moved into an apartment. He never did seem happy with his life, though.
As the years went by, Darren drifted apart from the family. He still lived in Colorado Springs–or at least everyone was pretty sure he did–but he didn't even come around for the holidays anymore.
Then, a few years ago, as if there weren't already enough traumatic experiences in the family, Melinda committed suicide. Nobody really understood why. She left a note saying that she felt like she'd failed Phil and Lauren, like she hadn't raised Darren the way they would have wanted. It was ridiculous, of course. She did a better job than Rod could have, he thought.
Sad. Rod was probably in his last years of life, living completely alone. He was never one to dwell on the negatives in life, but it was difficult not to. He'd been dealt a bad hand–such is life.
He gingerly walked over to the kitchen, still stiff from getting out of bed. He got some coffee out of the cabinet and put it in the coffee maker. The newspaper was in its usual place on the front step, so he brought it inside and sat and the kitchen table, reading.
Typical bad news, he thought. It's always someone getting murdered, or the economy going south, or violence in the Middle East. What a shame, he thought. The world could be such a peaceful place if people could just put aside their differences.
The pot of coffee was done. Rod pulled a mug out of his cabinet: his favorite. It said #1 Dad on it. It had been a Father's Day gift from Melinda, years and years ago.
He poured himself a mug, brought it to the table, and sat down again, trying to avoid flinching at the dull pain radiating through his back.
An unusual thought found its way to the front of his mind. He wondered what Darren had been doing recently. Frankly, it was unlike him to worry about him too much, since he'd made it fairly obvious that family wasn't a big priority for him.
But still, had he met a woman? Maybe they'd even had kids by now.
No, it's none of your business, he told himself. He just wanted to be left alone, and Rod could respect that.
He had finished his coffee, so he put his mug in the sink, and then walked to his bedroom. He found his usual jogging clothes in his dresser, removed them, and put them on, leaving his pajamas in the hamper in his closet.
Nothing quite like a morning jog to dull the stiffness. It was terrible growing old, he thought. First, you suddenly notice one day that you can't read anymore–at least not without reading glasses. Next, you realize you're forgetting things, like when you have the same conversation over and over with someone. (He could only imagine how frustrating that would be. After all, it used to be a personal annoyance back at work when people told him what he already knew.)
Eventually the hearing goes. It wasn't terrible: he could still hear, just not as easily as he once could. Phone conversations were particularly difficult.
Then comes the stiffness. Young people must take it for granted, he thought. The stiffness hung over him at all times, like a dark cloud over a picnic. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape it. Jogging helped, though.
And last, but not least, is the slowdown. That's something he hadn't bet on. It's not that he was becoming senile, he thought, just that doing things that used to come so easily before was now, well, a bit harder. Driving, for instance: just a trip to the grocery store could take three hours, not twenty or thirty minutes like it might have in days bygone.
No matter. He walked out the front door and started his usual routine: stretching for five minutes.
Rod was particularly looking forward to jogging that day since he was unusually stiff. After he finished stretching, he started on his usual route through the neighborhood.
He realized something. People just weren't as friendly as they used to be. Back when he'd first moved into that house, almost forty years ago now, he knew all of his neighbors on the whole street. They used to get together for block parties. He remembered how his wife always brought her signature Jell-O salad.
These days, though, people kept to themselves. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Rod thought, but it didn't hurt to smile and wave as he jogged past.