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What is it about me that wants what I can’t have? Did my past screw me up so badly? Am I broken?
“I knew I’d find you out here,” Andrew says, stepping onto the porch.
“There’s this concept called knocking. You should try it.”
“If you were entertaining, I would, but you’re not,” Andrew says, throwing himself down on one of the chairs. I ignore him and keep on strumming my guitar.
“Why is that?”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you bring anyone home? I haven’t seen you do that since I’ve known you.”
“You haven’t known me that long.”
“It’s been a year.”
“A year too long.”
I sigh, putting my guitar down, resigning myself to the interruption. Sitting back, I sip my beer, staring out at the lake. There’s no breeze, the surface lying undisturbed and calm, its stillness reflecting the faint rays of the moon in silvery ribbons. Being out on the porch, surrounded by woods and the lake in front of me is my happy place where I depend on the beauty and stillness to recharge me. But that restlessness from earlier is still scratching at my soul, and tonight it feels…empty.
I can feel Andrew’s eyes on me, studying me, and I know I give him shit, but I’m grateful for his unannounced visit. Not that I’d ever admit that to him.
“I think it’s time you get a new guitar.”
He’s probably right. It was already old when I stole it twenty years ago, and the years since have left it beaten and battered, looking like it barely survived a few wars. One would think that I’d want to. That I would want to rid myself of a reminder of a time I left behind, of the person I was that I left behind, and yet I never will. Instead, I keep it for exactly those reasons. So that I can remember and make sure I do everything I can to not go back to that. That I’m a better person now with a better life.
“So, besides annoying me, why are you here? And helping yourself to my beer.”
“I’ve been thinking.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “You know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“I sense a ‘but’ in there.”
“No ‘buts’. It’s just…I think it might be time to get my own place. Maybe move closer to town. Get out of your hair, you know.”
When I met him, he was practically homeless, with no one to give him support. He was doing what he felt he had to just to survive. I saw so much of myself in him, that I offered to take him on as my apprentice—give him a helping hand, the way I was given one. Pay it forward and all that.
“Look at that.” I grin at him. “The little chick is ready to spread his wings and leave the nest. Pappa bird is so damn proud.”
“Fuck off,” he grumbles. “I’m being serious.”
“You don’t have to sell it to me. I offered you the flat to help you get on your feet. You’ve come a long way since then, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but if you feel ready to get your own place, go for it.”
There were a couple of conditions for the job and place to stay, like no drugs and no sketchy behavior. He understood that I was immovable on those and took it to heart, turning his life around.
“Yeah?”
I nod. I’ll be sad to see him go, but he’s his own man who needs to live his own life. Silence descends while we’re lost in our thoughts. Not sure what he’s thinking about, but I’m contemplating what it will be like to be alone again. Before Andrew, it didn’t bother me, but now I don’t know so much.
“Why don’t you go visit that bakery lady?”
“Why would I do that?”
He shrugs. “She seemed interested.”
“Not my type.”
“Guys your age can’t afford to have a type.”
