Desperatly Seeking One Last Chance

He dressed hurriedly. His rumpled linen pants, ringed with black earth around both cuffs, covered scuffed shoes, soles worn inward.  Chilled by the autumn air, he drew his oversized coat tightly around his lean body, hoping to shake the cold and his own sense of impending dread. 

It was, he knew, a last desperate attempt. The heaviness weighed on him, gnawed at him, causing his back to arch like the bend of the willow tree in a stiff breeze.

 

A chill ran down his spine as he stood transfixed on the cobbled driveway which snaked its way to the ramshackle cottage at the water’s edge. His feet were clay, each slight movement deliberate, heavy, exhausting.  He paused.  It seemed that each step brought him closer to that all too familiar house, that sense of place so familiar to him, yet a distant memory. Involuntarily, his palms began to sweat, and rivulets of ice water drizzled down his face, almost freezing in place. Facing his fears, the demons within were something he was used to. He realized too late what he should have known all along.

 

His eyes scanned the large Cape Cod style house.  It wasn’t as quaint and homey as he had remembered it. The sea air assaulted the white paint, causing peeling, and he saw the rot beneath, deep and etched into the wood,  almost beyond repair.  The welcome sign was lying on the front porch upside down. He noticed the colonial door, its bright red dulled and the small square window panes flanking the door, cracked and lifeless. The white putty had turned a sullen gray and pieces of putty holding the glass in place were missing, dropped to the ground and decayed. 

 

The lawn surrounding the house leading down to the ocean’s edge was overgrown, unkempt.  In helter- skelter fashion, daisies rose up, defying the odds, holding promise but suffocated by an infection of weeds, everywhere. “No hope for this lawn,” he thought as he nodded his head. Memories of caring for the lawn, taking pride in having the best lawn in the neighborhood, made him smile, just for an instant.  Then his back arched lower to the ground as he picked the few scattered daisies before they were suffocated by the bad weeds.  He couldn’t let that happen.  Not yet.  Not until he tried one last time.  Desperately seeking one last chance, he stepped up to the front door. And knocked….