1964 Quadrangle - LaGrange College

Season for Loneliness
Billy Heamburg
It was the autumn of the year—a time the leaves wear masks of lively
color as though to conceal their dying. A time when a lonely man's loneliness
is magnified by the very season.
Perhaps it was in the gleaming edge of the November wind; perhaps
it was in the bubbling school children as they went homeward two by two;
or perhaps it was the assemblage of birds on the cold wires. Whether it
be these or other reasons, the autumn can make a void about a man.
Jake moved toward home in a void. "Dern cold wind—one of these days
I'll make enough money to hire a taxicab. Believe I'll go through the park
and save myself a little time," Jake mused as he rubbed the crisp white
stubble on his chin.
"Dern cold wind," he mumbled again as he turned into the park and
straight into the wind. He pulled his besieged field jacket about him. "One
of these days I'll make enough money to buy me one of them fancy overcoats.
Gunna get me one of them top­hats too." The wind snatched at his
few clumps of white hair. Very common white hair; in fact, one might say
that Jake was totally unimpressive except for one thing—his eyes. Jake's
eyes were blue—the blue that burns like the autumn sun.
Jake looked like anybody's grandfather, but he was nobody's grandfather.
Nobody called him father, ngr uncle, nor friend. Jake did not know
why he was alone, but he knew that he was alone.
He shuffled on past the lake, the statue, the playground, the bench—
the bench—Jake tried to go on by, but he only made it a few steps.
"Well, what we got here? You ought'nt be out here in the cold; you
should be at home by the fire." The puppy just looked at Jake with the
look that only a dog or a small boy can give.
"Looks kinda like a Pekinese, but no, reckon he's not. Just a dog, no
certain kind I reckon." Jake was about to leave when he muttered, "Well,
I'll be, he licked my hand; now why would you want to lick an old codger's
hand. Cute little fellow; I don't see nobody around, but he's probably got
an owner. Still, I don't see nobody around. I wonder—Oh, dern, if I took
him home, he'd probably just get sick and die. Still, if he don't belong to
nobody, he might need me." With that Jake swooped up the little dog and
pressed him tightly against his worn jacket.
"Gee, thanks mister, I've been looking all over for my puppy. Thanks a
lot for finding him. I'll take him now."
"Sure, sure son, glad to do it—here's your dog."
"Bye mister, and thanks again."
"Good­bye, son." The void, filled for a moment, flew open again. Jake
shuffled toward home. It was the autumn of the year.
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