A Rotten Banana (final draft)

A Rotten Banana

It had been a bleak fall season. The sun had seldom come out, and the autumn skies were often cloudy and sober. But it would only be so long before there were days like today, where the sun gleamed deftly, bringing much needed light and warmth to the people of Minneapolis. Colors regained their vibrancy, and one could see the tenderness of the occasion reflected on their faces. Yes, it was a beautiful day, and a most welcome change of scenery.

Gabe, however, on leaving his office, hardly noticed.

He was tired, and after another drab workday wanted to go home. Unfortunately, his car was in the shop, so he had to walk or catch a bus. Gabe initially planned on the latter but had neglected to check the routes, and while it would have been easy to look them up on his phone, he didn't bother. It would have been undoubtedly faster than going on foot but at that moment he just felt like walking.

It was five o'clock and everyone outside was going home. Being downtown there were throngs of people, but everyone managed to keep a safe, preserved distance from one another. Even with the end of the gloom conversation was possible but never achieved. Moving cars and running engines assailed the ears as human gestures, like shifting feet and moving lips, played second fiddle. It was a banal, quotidian scene.

To get home Gabe would have to cross the Mississippi, so he made his way towards Stone Arch bridge, where he was captivated by an allure particular to American cities. The river glimmered with a delicate radiance, and the falls, at one time the only natural ones along the Mississippi, were now buttressed with over spillways, demonstrating the beauty of nature alongside civic construction. There was also the hydroelectric plant that utilized the upper dam and lock, as well as the steam plant further along the way with its four smokestacks and red bricks. Not to mention the jetty and quays down below. The area had the industrial look Gabe had always been so fond of, and he now wondered if he shouldn't walk home more often.

Once over the river he would go northward until he came across E. Hennepin, which would take him all the way to his street. Forty minutes tops. He considered texting his wife but quickly changed his mind, there was no point. Gabe and his wife were at a stage in their marriage where most things could be understood with nothing being said, and if he was late coming home, she would assume he had decided to walk.

By the time he got to his neighborhood the sun was setting, leaving a blood orange stain on the horizon. There was still a little light, but not a lot, which is why Gabe was surprised to see a family, a mother with her two kids, playing with a soccer ball in their front yard. The mother and one of the children were lively, and showed a fair amount of dexterity as they dribbled the ball and passed it back and forth. But the same could not be said of the other child, the younger of the two, who clearly did not share their enjoyment. It was odd. Most kids can get pleasure from just running around and screaming, and so to see this kid, who must have been roughly the same age as Daniel, so lifeless during playtime was disconcerting. He tried to forget the boy and proceeded through his front door.

Gabe took his boots off and hung up his jacket. Everything seemed normal. It wasn't until he made a motion to lock the door that he realized how deathly quiet it was. He quickly turned around. His "Hello?" was met with silence. He left the foyer and entered the living room, where he saw his wife. She was sitting in the armchair, the one his mother left him, doing absolutely nothing. Her eyes were placid and bare, with her chin ever so slightly forward. She was just as beautiful as ever and Gabe thought she looked the epitome of regal apathy. "Hello?"

This time he was not met with silence. She blinked a couple times before turning her head towards him. "Oh, hello. I'm sorry."

Gabe forced a smile to hide his confusion before asking what she was doing alone in the living room.