Closed Doors

Chapter Five - Sees but doesn't listen

I was shaking and breathing heavily as I drove through the familiar streets. It was all the same, the trees I climbed when I was ten, the lamp post whose light we broke playing street soccer still not fixed. I drove home and parked the car away from prying eyes. I ran inside and drank water straight from the tap, it was warm but felt like ice against my burning skin. I tried to think about where I could go to get out of this skin. The image of a battered gym came to mind, the vivid picture of red gloves and sweaty skin, the smell of dust and paint. I tried not to think of the last time I was there, tried not to think of him.

The mint green walls of the bathrooms was still sickening, but the gloves and the punching bag was comforting.

 

“Cason?” A gruff voice asked, making me jump.

“Yeah. Hi, coach.”

He looked shocked and there was tender sadness in his cloudy eyes, his weathered skin gruff with stubble. He cleared his throat and the sight passed, replaced with his normal constant anger. “Well then, fatty, better start from the beginning. Skipping, 100 reps, don’t stop until you’re dead.”

“Yes, coach.” I surprised myself by leaning forward and grabbing the old man in an embrace.

He patted my back twice and cleared his throat again. “Okay, pansycake, get off me, I don’t swing that way.”

I laughed “Okay.”

I swear I was dead. The sweat was dripping off me in currents and I was physically drained, but the energy in my veins seemed comfortable, more in place. I liked it, but there was still a nagging feeling of something being off place in my mind. Showering, I tried to think of anything that could be off. Sawyer kept pushing herself into the forefront of my mind but I didn’t think much of it, merely thought I liked her too much for knowing her so little. I glanced at my watch and realised I could make the last 2 minutes of last period if I hurry. Last period was English. English meant seeing Sawyer.

She wasn’t there.

I tried to calm down, clear my head. I drove to the cafe. The kind woman who had served us pie and coffee looked up and smiled at me. The jukebox still sung the beloved melodies of olden days. The comforting air was there, the window was still free, but I felt distanced from it. “Excuse me, ma’am, did Sawyer come by?”

“The lovely blonde one?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, deary, stopped by for coffee this morning. Had a bag with her and all. Looked like she was off somewhere.”

“Did she… say anything?”

“Asked me to tell you goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“Yes, sweetheart, she’s gone.”

“Gone?”

She grew impatient, “Do you need a hearing aid?”

“No ma’am, sorry. I just didn’t expect it.”

“Didn’t you? Then you didn’t listen hard enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can hear when people are planning to leave, they sound like birds flying tentatively around, you can hear it in their words, the uncertainty. She’s gone, but darling I don’t think she was ever really here.”

She wasn’t there.

“Did she say anything other than goodbye?”

“Some coffee and a slice of pie, please.”