Black - Anonymous
He got into his car and locked the door. He didn't start the engine at first, just held the steering wheel in a tight grip. The night was pitch black. But even if it had been daytime, he still would only see the dark.
If only, he thought, if only someone would say hi, or smile. If only.
The street was deserted. There would be no hello's or any greeting at all here. He started the engine and drove off his street, turned onto the next street and headed downtown.
If someone so much as scowled at him, he thought, that would be it. Drive the car into a pole. A smile, he thought. That's all I need.
Then he laughed at himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You don't get smiles on the road. Be lucky if you don't get shot. He searched for a good place to park the car. He would walk, up and down the street if necessary.
Looking for a reason to live.
He found a spot, just a little ways from a coffee shop. It was late. The ladies would be out, and maybe the boys too, selling their wares. The rain started, little drops at first, then they started to get heavier.
What am I doing? He looked around. If people noticed him looking at them, searching their faces, their eyes, what would they see?
A looney, most likely, he thought. Or a leering bastard. Not a man desperate for human contact. Not a man desperate for someone to see him.
His family wanted nothing to do with him. A worthless drunk, they'd said. They didn't see him try to quit, they didn't see him go to rehab. They didn't have time for family counseling. No, it was all his fault. They told him he was lazy and selfish. Christmas was the last straw.
He'd attended a party. He didn't even have a drink, but they acted like he had. Hundreds of questions flew at him, where was he, how much did he drink? Did he embarrass the family yet again?
He regretted going home for the holidays. So he left them, their mouths open, their shouts deadened by the snow. He drove for two hours back to the city. He couldn't bear the darkness of his own apartment. So he went out.
How long had he been standing there, remembering the shouting? Remembering how dark his apartment was? He wanted a drink, and wondered why he shouldn't just go have one. Why the hell not, he thought.
He stared at the rain slicked streets, the colors of the signs reflected on the asphalt. He suddenly didn't want to see anyone.
He turned then, to get back into his car. But as he did, he bumped into a woman, sending her bags and their contents all over the sidewalk.
"Jeez, I'm sorry!" He bent over to pick up some of the items, and struck his head with hers.
She came up laughing. He couldn't believe it.
"It's ok. I can get it." She grabbed the last item, and stuffed it into the last empty bag. She looked at him, right at him, into his eyes. "Hey, I know you," she said.
"No, I–I don't think . . ." He stammered.
"Mitch, right? Friend of Billy's? Billy Stanton?" She kept her gaze even. She had a smile on her face.
"Yeah . . . you know Billy?" He couldn't think how she'd seen him. He only saw Billy at the meetings.
"He's my brother. You were at Billy's birthday party. He tried to introduce us, but we got interrupted. Remember?"
"No, not really." He felt flustered.
"Well, I remember you. My name is Lynn." She paused, like she expected a response, but he hadn't a clue of what to say.
"You remember me . . ." He felt like an ass for saying that. But that was the part that shocked him. She smiled at him, but her eyes told him she saw a lot more than he wanted her to see. She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the coffee shop.
"Come on. You look like you need a cappuccino. I know I do." She kept her grip on his hand. He staggered after her, terrified and happy at the same time.
-30-
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