This Winter

Chapter 15

Present

I offered to drive Noah. A destination not planned, but a conversation intended.

I drove on familiar windy roads to find Noah's neighborhood. Large suburban homes belonging to the upper-middle class. He had given me the same address, which I had assumed meant he was as much as a stranger to the town as I was.

It struck me by surprised that he assumed I had forgotten the path to his home over the years. I still knew every twist and turn to find his white paneled home. The path forever etched into my brain.

His home was exactly the same. The same navy shutters, large doors that held lies and judgement behind them. A flag waving from the porch, proudly standing. A symbol of freedom.. there was no freedom in the Anderson's home. The white suburban family who claimed to be Christians, but poisoning others with their toxic judgement.

The further I drove down the driveway, the more my chest tighten. Lungs constricting and palms sweating.

I contemplate whether the right move is to go to him or sit cowardly in the car and send a text. When he doesn't respond to a quick text I decide to walk to the front door.

I ring the doorbell, waiting patiently for an answer. It's Mrs. Anderson who opens the door.

Her hair has grayed and it's pulled back into a small bun. Face lined with wrinkles and her eyes are red. Dark circles bruise the under of her eyes and she struggles to smile. Forcing the stained frown to turn upwards.

I struggle to feign sympathy for the woman. She was never awful to Noah I suppose, nothing like Kurtis. But she was never present, never a grounded figure in her sons life. Too preoccupied with 'picture perfect' to realize her family was breaking at the seams. Never to realize her judgement was crushing her son beneath.

I settle with a tight smile.

"Ethan, how are you," her voice is hoarse and withered with age. She gestures for me to enter, pulling back the door and stepping aside.

My eyes take in the house. Minor changes have been made, a few picture frames above the stairs swapped for others and many added. I catch a glimpse of new drapes in the living room and shifted chairs.

The core of the house is the same. Beige walls and creme carpets. Light brown wood leading up the stairs towards Noah's room.

"They're upstairs," she nods.

In a dream my hands graze over the familiar wood, walking up the carpeted steps and turning the corner to Noah's room.

I stand behind the wooden door, hand clench and resting on the white surface. Physically ready to knock but not emotionally. I can hear muffled sounds of TV playing from the opposite side.

With my left hand still resting on the door, my right grasps the handle. Knocking gently and opening the door at the same time.

Legs are spilled out over the blue sheets. The TV running on the opposite wall and fingers tapping away on a cellphone.

Body bare with nothing but boxers on as they lay on the bed.

"Ethan?" a voice erupts behind me. I turn to see Noah standing behind me.

The color drains from my face and I know it's visible when his brow creases and head cocks.

They're upstairs.

The man spread on the bed sits up, eyes turning back to me. He smiles at me, showing off his white teeth. Hair a messy golden brown and hazel doe-eyes. "Stephen. Stephen Jones," he says with a lightness to his voice. A silver ring in his left nostril and his hair is gelled. He's handsome and I can't help but feel jealous as he confidently lays in nothing but plaid boxers on Noah's bed.