Egerton Close

He stepped off the bus and looked longingly after it, until it was but a speck in the distance. The raindrops carried a soothing pitter-patter to them as they landed on his umbrella. Their rhythm ill-matched the violent turmoil brewing inside him. He was in oblivion, and for that reason he did not immediately realize the clear, straight road ahead of him, one he presumed would take at least some time to find. “Egerton Close”, read the sign to the right of it. The Close seemed significantly more foreboding with each step he took to cross the road the bus had left by. 

He looked back but there was nothing there for him; he had hoped for salvation, a glimmer of hope at the least. An envelope of dark sky was the only overwhelming entity he acknowledged.

The note was in the pocket of his jeans. He took it out and read it again, like he had done so many countless times before. As if by some miracle its contents would change, and the memory etched in his mind erased. 

The young man walked slowly, gazing at the neat rows of suburban houses with kempt lawns and lit porches on either side of his path. They seemed cozy in their interior, much unlike the howling wind and bleakness outside. The cold was present, and the darkness of clouds laden with rain was as threatening as ever; 

how could he feel it when his being was the same, devoid of warmth? Icy and pitch black like the remnants of a decaying solar system, a graveyard of once shimmering stars. The rain grew more violent, and the grey clouds thickened. Thunder cracked and echoed around him. 

The house was straight ahead. He wiped the rain from his eyes to see better but the haziness with which he viewed the world did not reside there. He looked up for a sign. Nothing.

He walked up to the house, and only then did he become aware of his racing heart. He went up the porch steps and shook the rain from his shivering frame. A frail, shaking hand rose to knock on the door; it looked alien to him. He gave three sharp raps, which were wholly consumed by the bellowing thunder that erupted at that very moment. 

He knocked again. And waited. 

The door swung open. He looked up, then diverted his gaze downwards. A small girl in her pajamas had responded to his knock, and she looked up at him with wondering eyes. He asked for her father and she obliged, shutting the door in his face. He heard her - hardly audible as the rain muffled her delicate voice - as she called her father. He waited once more. 

A man came to the door. His hair was dark unlike the young man's blonde head of hair. His frame held no semblance to that of the young man. He had jovial eyes, a stark contrast to the piercing, melancholy eyes the young man had.

The young man stood rooted, unable to speak, for his voice choked as he tried to utter. The man in the house looked inquisitively at the young man, probing. His eyes were those of a stranger. 

“Can I help you?”, the man in the house asked. 

“Thomas?”, the young man managed to respond.

 His tone sounded too hopeful, he instantly realized. A pang of helplessness even. His voice trembled, and his gaze was pleading. 

“Sorry man, the person you’re looking for doesn’t live here anymore. If you had come two weeks sooner, you’d have certainly got him. We just moved in”, the man replied. 

The young man thanked him and bid farewell. 

A rush of crippling despair immediately flooded his body, hindering his ability to walk properly. He managed, however, to descend the porch steps and opened his umbrella again to be on his way.

“Wait there!”

The young man was already on the road when he heard the shout. 

He turned to see the dark-haired man peering from the door of his house.

"Come back!"

 The young man took off his raincoat and looked around the house. It was lavishly decorated, bright and warm. There were two young children in the living room where he was asked to sit. They paid him no mind. The dark-haired man entered the room with a card and handed it to him. 

“My wife just reminded me that the man you’re looking for, Thomas is it? He left a forwarding address and phone number. How silly of me to forget, terribly sorry man”. The man chuckled. 

The card seemed surreal in his palm. He stared at it. 

“Here, you can use the phone to call him”. His host held a phone out to him. 

The young man dialed in the digits with trembling hands. He placed it by his ear. It rang for an eternity. His heart threatened to fail him. 

Finally, it clicked, and he heard a voice.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end was female. 

The young man’s voice quivered as he searched for words. 

“Is…Is uh Thomas there?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Thomas passed four days ago. Heart attack.”

Silence. 

“Hello…May I ask ------------”

The young man hung up. He looked down at the floor. The tiling design was beautiful. Black granite with streaks of sublime white running haphazardly across it, reminiscent of the cracks in the savannah earth during the dry season. It must have cost a pretty penny.

It was getting wet, a shame. He wiped his eyes. 

“Is everything ok? Did you contact him?”

The young man looked into the concerned stare of his host. 

“I was late again”, he replied, and forced a grin. 

“Was it important?”

“My mother before she, uh…. she said I should find him. She said I would find him here”, he broke off. 

“I’m sorry young man, I truly am. Close relation, your father?”

The young man stood up. 

“Thank you for everything sir, I best be going”, he said. He took his leave.

**********************************

The young man looked up. The sky was darker than night, and the thunder roared once more. He welcomed the gloom, he was one with it. The rain had become heavier and the winds were menacing, as if attempting to blow him away. He did not open his umbrella. Instead he walked down the close towards the bus stop in the storm, half-hoping the rain would cleanse his burdened soul.

Lightning struck and cast everything in breathtaking glow for a split second, dispelling the dimness in his mind for a glorious moment. But in that moment of unfamiliar, fleeting solace, a tragic realization dawned on the young man, the truth of a perpetual sorrow.