all that you care, all you can give is a cold goodbye
Michael reached up and found the bottle he was looking for. The bookshelf was so tall he had to stand on tippie toe and books fluttered to the floor from all around where he was pressed against the oak shelves. He simply ignored them and grasped the dusty bottle of vodka, his father's favorite.
Michael sat in the arm chair, broke the seal and spun the top off the bottle. He took a long pull and set it on the coffee table in front of him. As the warm glow spread throughout his limbs he looked at the room. Shag carpet, dimly lit with a faux fireplace in front of where he was sitting. two walls lined with handcrafted bookshelves from another era and completely filled with books. In the corner by the fireplace sat an old record player that no longer worked.
Idly Michael wondered how long since anyone had been in here. He wondered if he would ever be here again. He picked up the bottle and headed for the door. One last look before flicking out the lights "Closing time" he said to himself. CLICK.
They had yet to move all the furniture and items out of the house but the realator was showing it anyway. Michael walked past the young couple and made his way to the front door. He turned and examined the couple when they weren't looking. Trophy wife. Business man. early 30's. Figures.
Outside it was fall, the tall cypress trees where shedding bark and leaves in turn. The grass was nicely mowed. The neighbor was outside raking, an older gentlemen Michael had known growing up, although they were never close. He knew his father and he were friends but right now that seemed like a lifetime ago. He waved and the neighbor waved back.
He walked down the sidewalk, which sloped gently downward, towards the car. Annette was waiting there smoking a cigarette and looking for all the world like she had never seen a small town before. Michael hugged her and they got into the car.
"You get what you wanted?"
"No but I got a consolation prize" He held up the bottle of vodka. Annette rolled her eyes.
"Well don't drink all of it."
"Fine fine." He said as he took a final pull from it. He climbed into the backseat and opened the middle console from the backrests, and slid the bottle into the trunk.
"Where to now?"
"You pick"
The car roared up the street, leaving once and for all his father's house behind him. He never planned on seeing it again, having hired people to move everything in it into a storage shed 2 miles from his own house. He could cherry pick it then.
Two hours later they pulled into their driveway. A modest house in the midwest. Picket fence and all. The kids were grown and gone but evidence of their presence was all around. A carving into their single tree, their old rooms, a tire filled with sand in the back. a rusty swingset.
============================================================================================================
The memory faded as quickly as it came. Michael smelled the mostly full bottle of vodka one more time before pouring half of into a glass of orange juice. He sat in the kitchen chair staring out at the dying grass and stump of a tree. His mind wandered as he sipped the glass.
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"I'm leaving, Mike" She was wearing that jacket he'd bought her last christmas. He sat with shaking hands at the kitchen table, spilling coffee all over.
"Anne... what? Why?"
"You know why. It's over Mike. I love you but I have to go"
He was in stunned silence as she walked out the door. Her bags were all already sitting on the sidewalk. Suddenly he stood up and raced to the door, still holding the coffee cup.
"ANNE!" she was climbing into the taxi, who had just finished loading her bags. He was wearing his robe and it fluttered and flapped as he ran to the car. The driver sat down, shut his door, and turned the ignition. Anne was looking out the backseat window with those beautiful blue eyes, eyes now sad and hurt at the same time. Mike was just about to the taxi when it began pulling off. Anne turned away, obviously crying now. He chased them halfway down the street but the car was moving at least 30 miles an hour and quickly disappeared behind a stretch of median trees.
"AAAAANNE!!!" he screamed one last time as he smashed the coffee cup on the street.
============================================================================================================
Michael sighed and continued drinking his cup. The world was becoming wavy and fuzzy, his mind as well. The memory slowly faded into a dull hum in his ears. His face felt wet and he wasn't sure why. He finished his glass and made his way to the living room.
It was tidy, looked like noone lived there. He slumped down onto the couch and felt into a restless sleep.
-r-
Michael sat in the arm chair, broke the seal and spun the top off the bottle. He took a long pull and set it on the coffee table in front of him. As the warm glow spread throughout his limbs he looked at the room. Shag carpet, dimly lit with a faux fireplace in front of where he was sitting. two walls lined with handcrafted bookshelves from another era and completely filled with books. In the corner by the fireplace sat an old record player that no longer worked.
Idly Michael wondered how long since anyone had been in here. He wondered if he would ever be here again. He picked up the bottle and headed for the door. One last look before flicking out the lights "Closing time" he said to himself. CLICK.
They had yet to move all the furniture and items out of the house but the realator was showing it anyway. Michael walked past the young couple and made his way to the front door. He turned and examined the couple when they weren't looking. Trophy wife. Business man. early 30's. Figures.
Outside it was fall, the tall cypress trees where shedding bark and leaves in turn. The grass was nicely mowed. The neighbor was outside raking, an older gentlemen Michael had known growing up, although they were never close. He knew his father and he were friends but right now that seemed like a lifetime ago. He waved and the neighbor waved back.
He walked down the sidewalk, which sloped gently downward, towards the car. Annette was waiting there smoking a cigarette and looking for all the world like she had never seen a small town before. Michael hugged her and they got into the car.
"You get what you wanted?"
"No but I got a consolation prize" He held up the bottle of vodka. Annette rolled her eyes.
"Well don't drink all of it."
"Fine fine." He said as he took a final pull from it. He climbed into the backseat and opened the middle console from the backrests, and slid the bottle into the trunk.
"Where to now?"
"You pick"
The car roared up the street, leaving once and for all his father's house behind him. He never planned on seeing it again, having hired people to move everything in it into a storage shed 2 miles from his own house. He could cherry pick it then.
Two hours later they pulled into their driveway. A modest house in the midwest. Picket fence and all. The kids were grown and gone but evidence of their presence was all around. A carving into their single tree, their old rooms, a tire filled with sand in the back. a rusty swingset.
============================================================================================================
The memory faded as quickly as it came. Michael smelled the mostly full bottle of vodka one more time before pouring half of into a glass of orange juice. He sat in the kitchen chair staring out at the dying grass and stump of a tree. His mind wandered as he sipped the glass.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
"I'm leaving, Mike" She was wearing that jacket he'd bought her last christmas. He sat with shaking hands at the kitchen table, spilling coffee all over.
"Anne... what? Why?"
"You know why. It's over Mike. I love you but I have to go"
He was in stunned silence as she walked out the door. Her bags were all already sitting on the sidewalk. Suddenly he stood up and raced to the door, still holding the coffee cup.
"ANNE!" she was climbing into the taxi, who had just finished loading her bags. He was wearing his robe and it fluttered and flapped as he ran to the car. The driver sat down, shut his door, and turned the ignition. Anne was looking out the backseat window with those beautiful blue eyes, eyes now sad and hurt at the same time. Mike was just about to the taxi when it began pulling off. Anne turned away, obviously crying now. He chased them halfway down the street but the car was moving at least 30 miles an hour and quickly disappeared behind a stretch of median trees.
"AAAAANNE!!!" he screamed one last time as he smashed the coffee cup on the street.
============================================================================================================
Michael sighed and continued drinking his cup. The world was becoming wavy and fuzzy, his mind as well. The memory slowly faded into a dull hum in his ears. His face felt wet and he wasn't sure why. He finished his glass and made his way to the living room.
It was tidy, looked like noone lived there. He slumped down onto the couch and felt into a restless sleep.
-r-