He swung the headlights into the tree-covered driveway, and pulled up to a rather unremarkable beach house. Though, even with just the dim lighting of the automobile's beacons, he could tell it was just the retreat that this third-life crisis called for.
Away from noise of anything more grating than the gentle waves and his reeling mind. The silence of the world when he pulled the key from the ignition pervaded his soul and peace came. Peace he hadn't known any part of over the past thirteen months.
The malignancy in his colon took his sense of serenity. Months of decisions and heavy considerations. And while he experienced much sleep, he knew nothing of rest from the day of the colonoscopy.
Cancer at the age of 32 was a harsh crashing crushing blow to reality and to life. While the diagnosis stole his peace the grief took all the rest.
The denial caused him to take off for two weeks. Burning gas and rubber on a journey to nowhere. Getting to the place where he was solidly convinced it was all a mistake. The anger driving away his college companion, Annie. He had bartered with himself and God. Swearing and hoping that if he changed his ways, took his life back and got healthier that the tumor would dissipate even disappear.
He had spent a week in bed numbly watching television and crying, between doctor appointments. That time had been what nearly severed his ties with family. He pushed them away and kept them out in the dark regarding treatment.
The morning he had woken with resolve was the one that had brought him all the way through to the sand-duned escape.
He made his way up the concrete steps and pulled the cliche beach screen door outward and slid the key he had been mailed into the knob and opened the wind whipped maple wood door. He entered a simple kitchen. He found the light switch with the light of the night to which his sight had become accustomed. As he flipped the switch florescent light hit him and he could now take in the room and beyond it; A living room that spoke more of the age of the owner than anything had yet.
A crochet afghan folded on the back of a very retro moss colored sofa that looked as inviting as a bench in the clinic. A hard-worn paisley print chair sat next to the sooty fireplace. Next to that was a doily topped, dark-stained end table with an enveloped note addressed simply, Will. He snatched up the envelope and pocketed it as his investigation continued.
Away from noise of anything more grating than the gentle waves and his reeling mind. The silence of the world when he pulled the key from the ignition pervaded his soul and peace came. Peace he hadn't known any part of over the past thirteen months.
The malignancy in his colon took his sense of serenity. Months of decisions and heavy considerations. And while he experienced much sleep, he knew nothing of rest from the day of the colonoscopy.
Cancer at the age of 32 was a harsh crashing crushing blow to reality and to life. While the diagnosis stole his peace the grief took all the rest.
The denial caused him to take off for two weeks. Burning gas and rubber on a journey to nowhere. Getting to the place where he was solidly convinced it was all a mistake. The anger driving away his college companion, Annie. He had bartered with himself and God. Swearing and hoping that if he changed his ways, took his life back and got healthier that the tumor would dissipate even disappear.
He had spent a week in bed numbly watching television and crying, between doctor appointments. That time had been what nearly severed his ties with family. He pushed them away and kept them out in the dark regarding treatment.
The morning he had woken with resolve was the one that had brought him all the way through to the sand-duned escape.
He made his way up the concrete steps and pulled the cliche beach screen door outward and slid the key he had been mailed into the knob and opened the wind whipped maple wood door. He entered a simple kitchen. He found the light switch with the light of the night to which his sight had become accustomed. As he flipped the switch florescent light hit him and he could now take in the room and beyond it; A living room that spoke more of the age of the owner than anything had yet.
A crochet afghan folded on the back of a very retro moss colored sofa that looked as inviting as a bench in the clinic. A hard-worn paisley print chair sat next to the sooty fireplace. Next to that was a doily topped, dark-stained end table with an enveloped note addressed simply, Will. He snatched up the envelope and pocketed it as his investigation continued.
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