I walked along the soggy road, encapsulated in my own grief. I stepped against the cracks and they smiled at my trying to avoid them. I slammed my shoes into the dirty puddles purposely. I don’t know why.

I saw the road, winding and narrow. It held memories, both small and large.

“This is my home,” I told myself out loud. I said it with a boom at the bottom of my voice, hoping someone would hear my pensive comment and question its relation to the sight of such a curious man who seemed to have so much to say and no one to say it to.

Maybe a beautiful woman, un-jaded and innocent, would hear it. She would smile when I explained the comment. She would laugh while I told her of my father and the jokes he told me as we both walked home from school on the same road.

“It feels shorter now,” I would tell her.

“When I was younger this road took forever to walk, and my father and I talked our way down it. Now it feels like the blink of an eye. It feels like something that isn’t worth remembering. But when I look back into the past, I feel like there’s not much more I would need to remember.”

She would look at me with a subtle, somber face full of compassion and understanding, her beautiful features illuminated with an indescribable radiance. She would slide her hand onto to my shoulder and let it rest there comfortably.

“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed. I knew that the speech was overdramatic and self-righteous. I had said it, I guess, in an attempt to get the girl to care for me. It was common among us men. Hearts on the sleeve kind of stuff that seemed to open doors into a man’s inner beauty. It may be bullshit, but it seemed to be doing the job.

“Don’t worry about it. It was refreshing to hear,” she replied therapeutically.

“You don’t have to humor me. Really. It’s okay,” I said with a hint of “humble” understanding.

“So, what happened to your father?” she asked timidly.

“He passed on about four years ago,” I responded coolly and collectedly. After the reply, I sighed and let it fade away slowly. I let the sigh mingle with the stark air and the impending mist.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

“No worries.”

Our eyes met and the world seemed to find a minute to pause.

“Do you want to get a cup of coffee maybe?” I asked.

“Yes. That sounds nice. It’s getting a little cold now,” she responded, wrapping her arms around her body.

“I know a café a couple of blocks down from here,” I said.

We walked slow and steady down the road. It felt longer again. It felt wider and straighter than it had in years. I breathed in the thick air and let it fill my lungs. I released the air from my throat and enjoyed the moment.

She grabbed my arm and wrapped it around herself for warmth. She was a branch and I was her tree. I smiled and felt alive with her connected to me.

The lights of the café appeared as we turned off the road onto the corner. There the café sat, eagerly anticipating our entry. I looked at her and observed her penetrating, baby blue eyes that seemed to both dim and brighten with her emotion. Looking back at the road we turned away from, I almost wished I could’ve stayed on it forever with her. But the warm café would do just fine.

I kept turning my head to her, constantly making sure she was still with me, holding my arm tightly. Once in a while, she would look back at me, and my insides would drop, hollow. She was the one.

I found the rusted brass handle of the café and pulled to open it. It didn’t budge. The door stood, unmoving. The café was closed.

“Dammit,” I said with a disappointment that seemed to fill my veins like wet ocean sand.

I turned to find the girl again. All I found was that thick air, stagnant and alone in the night. The only accompaniment to the air was my right arm, jutting out awkwardly like a triangle wanting to be grasped. I allowed the triangle to fall next to me, disappearing.

I rotated and found the new road. Not a light shone on it, and I could find no reason to continue down the path. Simultaneously, I turned around and saw the old road and found no reason to retrace my steps.

“This is my home,” I said loudly, standing still, hoping someone would hear me.