Unfinished Business (another old blog post recovered)

She stood outside, in the middle of the storm, rain pounding at her face like thousands of fists sent from heaven. She stood still, unwavering, unmoving…broken. Furiously blinking, mixing her tears with the water droplets on her face, struggling to understand why the road had brought her here tonight.

She looked up at the old boarded house. It had aged in a few short months, reflecting the tired creaking she felt in her chest nowadays. Her flowerbeds were gone, as were the wind chimes that greeted the crisp autumn breeze when she used to huddle on the porch. The porch…where was her swing? He threw it out perhaps. What else would be gone? Frozen, unable to take a few more steps up towards the stairs, to greet the front entrance.

She closed her eyes, the sheets of water unyieldingly washing over her, but she felt nothing. She was no colder than she had felt for months, her heart barely keeping pace with the falling rain. Looking up, a smile spread on her face, she could hear him working on his old Mustang permanently perched on the driveway. The breeze running through the old pecan trees, his radio buzzing in and out with its metallic serenade…she even remembered the way his hair stuck to his grease-stained face.

Thunder claps in the distance; she’s pulled back to today. She’s forgotten the sound of his voice, but her sleepless mind replays his mouth movements to her…that day he got in the car to go to the store. She remembered his dead eyes, his mumbled ‘See you in a bit’…and her knees give out. Her head slumps over slowly, meshing itself against the gravel. Her hands dig deep into the dirt…a feral scream deafens the howling wind and crashing around her.

Laying there for what seemed like an eternity, the storm around her grows more intense. This is it, she thinks, either get inside or in your car. Gathering herself up, cradling her chest with her arm wrapped around it, keeping it together. She takes one last look at the old palace, her paradise on earth…and gets back in her car. Not feeling the blood trickle down her knees…she reluctantly turns the engine on. Today she got past the second tree, a few steps farther than last night. Maybe tomorrow night, she’ll make it to the first rose bush by the steps. Perhaps tomorrow the lights will be on, and the door will be open…and his steps echoing as the front screen door slams. Perhaps his eyes, his depthless eyes, will be waiting.

White kitchen walls with a thousand windows
Turn on Winston in the den
And I'm still asleep but I can hear the piano
When you make breakfast after 10
And I smell the coffee on your fingers
I still smell the perfume in the bed
The crushed linen roses on everything
And you're still inside my head

- Blue October "Breakfast After Ten"