Walking at Midnight

Matthew

Matthew tugged at the sleeves of his jacket, trying to pull the leather over his trembling hands. He was walking around aimlessly on Fifth Avenue at midnight. The cold wind of late November plagued him; his cheeks were a rosy pink, his lips were fairly chapped, and his extremities were partially numb. He had been walking up and down the same street for more than thirty minutes, unsure of where to go or what to do. With every step and turn, he cursed himself. His day had been long; his night even longer. He had bar hopped at least three times, consuming a number of drinks along the way. He shouldn't have, considering how little money he had.

It had been a long week. For the first time in eight years, he was jobless. For five of those years, he had been an officer for the Lamcomb Police Department. Placed on temporary and unpaid leave, he knew he would likely be fired. How he came to be in this predicament was still unknown to him. When he asked for answers, his lieutenant, with a crestfallen expression, simply said he was"under investigation". Never in his life had Matthew felt such confusion. He had demanded to know on what reasons he would be investigated. The reasons provided were far beyond what he would have ever suspected.

So, he really was being foolish, spending his money on alcohol when he should be saving it. It was an act of desperation. He was a recovering alcoholic and a relapse was going to set him back a whole year. What a shame. At least he wasn't piss drunk. He pulled out his bronze AA token from his pocket, flipped it through his fingers, and tossed it on the sidewalk. One year of sobriety wasted.

He wasn't alone on Fifth Avenue. Even at midnight, the street was one of the busiest places in the city. People mingled outside of the bars and clubs, ate at the 24-hour diner, walked to and from various shops. Matthew didn't look out of place and blended in as he repeatedly walked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

He had a lot on his mind. His thoughts were cloudy and incoherent. It wasn't the alcohol that was making him feel this way, it was his emotional turmoil. Perhaps it was because he wasn't getting enough sleep. His brain was delusional, unable to release the stresses of everyday life. Was it insomnia? Perhaps it was.

Matthew flipped his wrist and checked his watch, 12:23 AM.

And in the second it took him to look down, he had bumped into someone. He glanced up quickly, ready to apologize, but they had already walked past him. He turned his head over his shoulder. There was only one person walking away from him on the sidewalk. A woman in a yellow dress wearing a bright pink, wide brimmed hat. She walked speedily and soon disappeared after turning a corner.

Matthew paused. That dress looked oddly familiar. Perhaps he had seen it in his fiance's closet or in a store in passing. The thought didn't linger. He had other things to worry about. So, he continued his continuous thread up and down Fifth Avenue, thinking of all the things wrong in his life.