Odd Man Out
By John Ogden


Here is a man. Let’s call him Bob.

Bob lives by himself, alone. He takes his breakfast in the kitchen, his lunch at work, and his dinner in his easy chair. He rarely eats out. He has no pets, no children, and only sees his family on holidays. He thinks about love everyday, but to him it is an abstraction, something he knows is out of reach.

At work, Bob sits in a corner and works dutifully toward the end of his day. When people come to talk to him, he smiles, puts his friendliest foot forward. If the person is a man, Bob is met evenly, some smiles, some masculine jibing and playfulness. If the person is a woman, she glares, ignores his friendly nature. The rare one that smiles back always, inevitably has a ring on her finger.

There is nothing wrong with Bob. He is young, tall, kind and handsome. He rarely drinks. He does not do drugs. He treats everyone respectfully, lives by the mantra of do unto others. He is not rich, but he knows the value of work and has used only a single sick day in the last five years.

And yet, one by one, Bob watches as the world finds matches for everyone around him. He attends each wedding, sends gifts for every baby shower, keeps an even smile through it all, even as the small, cool petals of happiness sprinkle down around him while never touching him, feathers always floating just out of reach.


- - -
John Ogden was conceived of a government form and a passing mailbox. He lives somewhere out in the woods of a rural land more akin to the fantasy realms of literature than real life, and his favorite dirt bikes will always be the broken ones.