He turned at the traffic light, down Gavin Avenue on the outskirts of the dark city Monday night. Every night since he discovered a truth in July, the rain always fell, the sun never rose and the air was always smelling foul. It was linear, the road she walked that Josen was never allowed on, dying into a Mountain a sailboat ride from the Atlantic.

He turned down the driveway, third house on the left, flipping off the headlights so the brightness wouldn’t disturb the four-pane windows. Within the instant, the coward felt a desire to reverse the car, join friends for a taste at the local pub and resume a normality that’s pleading him to change. No, he considered to himself. That was always the problem, unable to voice himself in favor for a perception he desired. It took all available courage to unlatch the car door, step out into the sousing rain and knock on the door.

Usually awake this time of night, it didn’t surprise Josen that she answered immediately. “Josen,” she gushed standing inside her front door wearing sapphire boxer shorts, a bleached tee-shirt and a mess of dark autumn hair.

“I…” he started while his eyes explored the three steps preceding her front door. After a nervous laugh, he found her solid green eyes, and smiled. “I was just in the neighborhood, and thought I’d drop by.”

That was a dumb thing to say, Josen realized when her body language revealed a hint of annoyance; arms crossed, eyes narrowing. His eyes lowered again, mindlessly staring at the steps that proceeded into her house, probing his mind for the truest thing to say. Maybe they’re right; maybe they’ve always been right.

From a thought that resided in no mind, Josen continued, “And I wanted to say good bye.” He apprehensively looked up at her again, curious for a reaction. Josen had known her for over half a decade. The truth of it is Josen had been a nomad for much of his life. When something nailed him so hard, disappointed him so much, he never knew how to handle it. Even so, “never” was a repeating word that breathed in his ear when he fell asleep at night. Saying good bye wasn’t something he meant to say; it was the accumulation of years that made him involuntarily say it. He said it anyway, cursing himself like so many times before failing to understand exactly what was meant for him.

Underneath one of the worst rainstorms the Midwest had seen in months, he said good bye, and she stood emotionless, perhaps a bit cheerful, Josen couldn’t tell; nor did he want to know. His black overcoat encompassing light blue jeans and a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, weighed him down; though it wasn’t the coat that threatened to bury him.

Josen already felt a mistake beating in tune with his anxious heart. Driving through diverse neighborhoods searching for words that would bring peace to his civil war, Josen dreamed her responses, hoping to hear, “no, please stay”, even wondering if she’d examine herself, concluding the same thing that Josen had for so long. Instead, he couldn’t remember any of the one thousand scenarios he dreamed up, not a single one, because they never happened.

Finally, she asked, “Why?” It even appeared she didn’t care, or simply impatient wanting to return to the familiar late night programming, or perhaps under the comfort of sheets and pillows. At this point, Josen didn’t care; he felt twisted, like his skin was burning.
“The door is closed,” Josen turned, “Truthfully, it’s always been closed, but I stared at it like an artist admiring a masterpiece that no one understood. Big fat idiot, I am,” he grinned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Hah,” he blurted, “And I thought you were smart enough to have picked up on that by now.” He meant it as a joke, but felt his anger swelling.

She was confused, he knew. Not that it mattered, not anymore. Being the coward he was, he spoke truths through riddles, begging her to solve the puzzle. If she didn’t, then there was no harm. However, if she did, well, then everything changes and the rain stops, the sun rises and the summer warmth returns. He laid his hand gently against her cheek, said good bye, and backed out of her driveway, defeated and hurt. With tonight’s rain, the windshield wipers swiped an irritating squeaking sound. Reliving another failure on a path that had no turns, Josen pounded his fist into the steering wheel, shouted a few curses and speed faster, and faster, and faster. Lights in the buildings passed like shooting stars and bumps in the street violently rocked the Crimson car. Radio manipulated his emotions to the song that played, so he kept it off.

Did something go wrong? Again, Josen wondered. Perhaps he played a broken record of an image with an infinite future, daydreaming like watching an old projector against a plain moon-color wall. No, that never came to pass, and it was depressing to feel that touch fading away from him, dying. Open doors only remain open for so long; you only recognize it when the door is already closed. This one never opened.

Headlights behind him quickly faded, pressing harder on the accelerator. Shooting stars turned into streaking chaotic horizontal globs of white. Josen gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles became void of color. After lighting his cigarette, turning angry by the mile, Josen rolled down the passenger window. Gusting like a tornado through the car’s interior, his twisted hair looked like it was zapped through an electric current while the car sped faster. He dragged the cigarette three times before throwing it out.

His cell phone rang, it was her. Every voice shouted to him to press the green button to answer. What’s the point, he considered? Within a second, the realization hit him; there was nothing he could do or say; everything would always remain the same, and he hated that. She picked her door, shutting him out. Instead, Josen flung the phone out the window, shattering against the pavement, mocking a smile that this was finally over.

Finally, he pressed his body against the breaks and let the car drift several hundred feet, skipping over inches of rain, before coming to a stop. He turned into the park to the left, which housed a massive lake where exercise enthusiasts could run. His black steel toed boots, hung off the lake’s edge while Josen spread his arms, closed his eyes, feeling the rain beat against his heavy wool black coat. It’s over, and all the doors are closed. He even wondered if he slipped into the river, resting on his back against the lake’s floor, if it would even matter. Some would be saddened, but truly, would he ever be missed? He already knew the answer, so he didn’t bother considering anything beyond what he believed to be true. He was a ghost, a fiction, a pointless entry.

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