In the End

Eleventh Hour

His days are quiet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he wishes they weren't. His hours at work have become too slow, his down time in his apartment too dreary. He tries to distract himself with television or alcohol, but it only seems to escalate the problem. He cannot write, except about one thing, over and over again, only to feel ashamed and want to tear the pages out and burn them. He doesn't because he knows it will not make the feelings burn away with them.

When Kristen or Brett have the time, he pulls himself to their company. He had never realized until recently just how lonely he'd been for so long. He had just gotten so used to being on his own that his mind had become numb to it. He does not know who to blame for awakening his awareness to this problem.

He makes a commitment to drive to his mother's house every Saturday. It is the least he can do and he has been lazy about it for too long. The first time, he was so guilty about how long it had been since he'd last gone to visit her that it took re-opening just healing wounds on his skin before he could brave the hour drive. Karen had opened the door, and while it had seemed to take a minute before she recognized him, she had pulled him into a strong hug and ushered him into the house. He wanted to cry just being in her presence again. He had forgotten how much he had missed his mother.

He had stifled his tears and followed her into the kitchen. He could tell that she had designed every part of the house. He could see her in the way it was put together. It had her touch.

It is the same this Saturday, only this time, he does not feel the horrid guilt from before, and he does not feel so much like crying. Brett has sent him some strange photo of a cat that makes him laugh, for reasons he does not understand, and he is still laughing about it when he knocks on his mother's door.

"Andy!" she says, and in her eyes, he feels as if she does not know who he is, really, but he waves it away as nothing. She hugs him tightly and ushers him into the house, calling for Mike to come downstairs from his office.

"I've become so used to you visiting now, I am getting better at preparing a nice meal for the three of us," she says, her warm and familiar hand on his arm. "It's pot roast today; the weather is starting to cool down, so I thought it was perfect. Tea?"

"Sure, Momma," Andy tells her, kissing her forehead. "I'll come help."

"No, no, sit!" Karen protests, pushing him towards the couch. The room is so full of light, but she doesn't have a single bulb on. It has to be the windows, large and placed just so. He can feel the warmth of the midday sun on the cushion and throw pillows as he relents to his mother's wishes and rests against the couch. Karen is bustling off into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder.

"How is work? You had a day off today right?"

"No, I just close earlier," Andy responds. He can hear footsteps on the staircase, and turns his head to see Mike Norris, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and mouth as he smiles. Mike claps him on the back.

"Andy, good to see your face around again!" he says, then leans in to murmur, "It's all your mother talks about. Saturday is Andy Day."

He steps into the kitchen, and he can hear their small chatter and the clatter of china. Mike says something he cannot hear, but it makes Karen laugh aloud and shout at him. Something about them reminds him of how Kristen and Jess are together, sharing secrets. Harmless ones that are just for the two of them.

Mike's head pops out. "Do you have a preference on flavor?" he asks. Andy shrugs.

"Just nothing bitter," he replies. Mike disappears again for a moment, then nudges the swinging doors open with his knee, Karen trailing behind him. Mike sets the tray down on the coffee table, and then sits in the small sofa across from Andy.