Another Look

The snow started to fall as Mike stared out the window. His mind was far from the work clustered on the monitors in front of him. Across the crumbling road the turbid sky loomed above dead branches and solemn faces. Mike sighed.

His mind was on his father, and the first snow fall since his death. He loved this time of year, he thought and sighed again. The computer dinged and Mike turned his attention away from the gray but beautiful landscape.

He used to work in a much larger office with more people, but his work and subsequent promotion justified the opening of a second branch. It was good for less than a year, then his father got sick. The work took a backseat to doctors appointments, and long hours sitting by his father while the chemo rushed through his veins like the smoke that gave him cancer once rushed through his lungs. When he died it was sudden. Mike knew it was going to come, but three months from diagnosis to funeral was too much to comprehend.

His death was also a relief. The months during his sickness was a hard, unrelenting time. His mother would wake up panting, reaching for her husband, only to find him asleep next to her in the bed. He’d be breathing heavily but breathing all the same. Mike tried telling her that it wouldn’t be like that, that she wouldn’t have the luxury of finding him one morning peacefully asleep and unresponsive. He would wither away. His once problematic belly would shrink until ribs poked through sallow skin. His hair would fall out and he would suffer.

Mike was wrong. His death came as swiftly as could be wished under the circumstances. If he did suffer, he did so in silence. At the end, they woke up one morning to find him dead, his belly as full as ever from his wifes cooking and his hair still combed neatly back. To Mike, this was a blessing.

That days work dragged on. Emails came and were answered with the professionalism that earned Mike the seat he now sat in. Deals were cut, grievances were set right and Mike skated through another dull day. By lunch he decided to take a walk. He stood, stretched and looked back out the window. The snow had kept up at a frightening pace. The streets were thick with it, like an over frosted cake. Scattered through the landscape were tufts of drifted snow piling up next to buildings and parked cars.

Across the road he saw a man. He stood with his hands in a green army jacket staring up at Mike. He wore a black trapper hat with brown fuzz. Snow was piled up to his ankles but there he stood. Motionless. Frozen?

Mike put the stranger out of his mind and made a cup of coffee. The single cup coffee maker in the office was nothing compared to the stuff Laura made at home, but it did the trick. He looked in the small fridge and found a container of leftover chinese. He lifted the lid, took a few inquiring sniffs and stuck it in the microwave. He ate with one hand and fingered the mouse wheel with the other.

The wind kicked up outside and shook the window pane. A cold draft snuck through the edges of the double pane, which was now lined with snow. Mike looked again to the window. The stranger was still standing in the unrelenting snow, now almost knee deep. What is up with this guy? He thought and rubbed away the fog formed by his breath.

A knock came to the door and Mike jumped. Three hard blasts. He looked back to the window but the man was gone. The office took on a chilly frost from the drafty window and the overheads were humming somewhere in the distance, spilling sickening yellow light across the walls. Mike went to the door and held the handle. He was hesitant to open, but wasn’t sure why. Did he really think that the man was knocking on his door? Of course not, that’s ridiculous. But-

Another knock, two short blasts this time. Mike turned the handle and swung the door. No one was there. He looked down the hall but saw nothing. He looked back into his narrow office at the window again. The wind gusted violently from the other side of the double panes, kicking up drifts of snow that clogged the screen. Mike ran back to the window and the man was there again, standing in the middle of the road.

He grabbed his coat and made for the door. His heart was racing and a chill was making its way up his spine. The closer he got to the bottom of the staircase the more sure he was that he was losing his mind. He reached the bottom and opened the glass door that lead out into the front parking lot. The man was gone.

A strong gust of wind shot through the tunnel formed by the narrow building lined road. Snow flew from every direction, biting Mikes face and hands like icy teeth. He ran back to the building, back to his office. He looked out the window again. The man was in the road.

Another knock on the door. One sharp blast that sent a shiver through Mikes heart. He didn’t want to look back to the window and find an empty street, but he had to. And he did. Another sharp blast and a voice from the other side. Indistinguishable, muffled. Mike ran to the door.

“Who is it?” he asked, trying his best not to sound as scared as he felt.

A muffled voice. Mike wished the door had a peep hole.

“Just a second,” Mike said. He didn’t know what to do. He was so frightened that he couldn’t bring himself to open the door. Finally the voice came through clear, like church bells cutting through a clear winter morning.

“Sonny boy,” the voice called. Mike froze. Another knock snapped him out of it and he swung open the door.

His father stood in front of him wearing the green army jacket and black trappers hat. Mike was breathing cold air in heavy gulps that stung his throat and lungs. Tears were threatening in his eyes and he was unable to move apart from his shaking hands.

“Dad?” he said.

His father smiled, and like the sun fading behind the horizon, he was gone.