A Long, Hard Day

It had been a long journey. It's a fairly lengthy drive anyway—about twelve hours—but I never mind it. Even as a kid I liked long car trips. And I like making this one on my own; stopping only when I want, eating too many greasy burgers, singing along to whatever. I like that time alone.

Only this time was a bit different. I planned to get going by eight, knowing full well I wouldn't leave before nine. But the night before some things had happened. I can't get into the specifics right now. Well, I can, but I guess I don't want to. Something... OK, something finally happened between us, but only right at the last minute. So I thought that our one last night together would turn into something special. It didn't, not really, but that's neither here nor there. We were all sitting together, the eight of us, and I kept waiting for her to say good night. I wanted to walk her to her room was the thing. And pretty soon it's eleven, it's midnight, it's one and it's two, and I've got to get up and get going in the morning, I still have some packing to do. My friends and I are having a good time, drinking and reminiscing, it's rare that we're all together in the same place at the same time. But it's getting to the point where enough's enough already.

Anyway, one by one people start peeling off, saying goodbye, heading out. But still she sticks around. It's four in the morning by the time she finally gets up to make an exit, and I find some excuse to leave with her (even though I'm sure everybody already knows). I walk with her, make some foolishly ill-timed confession that I'm not even sure was true, but it's not reciprocated anyway so it doesn't matter. It's doesn't kill the goodbye, but it sure taints it. I leave feeling like a putz. I finally get to bed at five. I get up at nine. I leave by eleven. And I'm exhausted.

Which wouldn't be a problem had it not been for the storm. Twelve or so hours gets stretched into fifteen. There's snow and wind and the sun sets early, and every thing just makes every other thing worse. Had it not been snowing, had it not been windy, had I left just a couple hours earlier and caught more of that sun, I wouldn't have been so anxious and sore and unapologetically curt.

I pull up outside my house and I see her right away. I see a figure, that is, and when I get out with my bag and start heading toward my door I see that it's a woman. Sitting on a chair on my front porch, a tattered rolling suitcase beside her, making herself right at home. Her eyes are closed. She doesn't see me coming.

"Can I help you?" I startle her awake.

"Oh, I was just resting," she answers, in a tone recognizing she isn't wanted.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm just weary. It's been a long walk."

"Well, you know, this isn't your home, and there are other places you can go. I've had a long, hard day and I don't really feel like coming home and dealing with you right now. It's not my job. Yeah?"

"I'll leave soon."

"You'll leave now. Please go."

I don't know if it was words, but she was holding back something. Maybe she was waiting for me to apologize. But when it was clear I hadn't the slightest intention of that she stood up, took hold of her suitcase handle, and slowly walked away. I went back to the sidewalk and watched her go down the street. I'm not sure why, maybe to make sure she was actually leaving, that she wasn't going to hide out a couple houses down and then come back after I went inside. It had stopped snowing by now, and for the first time I realized how bitterly cold it was. There was no snow, no wind, only the frigid, indifferent air moving in and around and through everything. Every few yards a streetlamp would illuminate her, proving she was still there.