Autumn Walks

To this day, I still don't know what led me to his door.

It could've been the weather. I'm an enthusiast of autumn. It's the soft sequel to the intenseness that is summer, the radiating sun beaming in the sky from June until August. It's the calm prelude to the harshness of winter, authoritative storms surging their way through the city. Autumn combines the best of everything; the sun of summer, the wind of winter, and the shade of spring. It's the best of both worlds. Or I guess the best of all three worlds.

I wanted to take advantage of the weather so I decided to take a walk, ingesting everything the calm evening offered. The quiet streets, the faint wind, and the dim glow from the streetlights up above. The walk was intended to be short, just around the block. But one block had turned to two, a couple lefts into rights, and then next thing I knew, I was outside of the apartment building, hesitating for only a moment before climbing the steps.

As I made my way up, I kept telling myself to go with a good old-fashioned excuse, 'I was in the neighborhood.' But it was a lie. The weather had nothing to do with my presence.

It was concern.

I had heard the whispers about what was going on. While I'm not necessarily in the gossip loop, I pride myself on being someone who listens well. My first wife would call it eaves dropping. You say tomato, I say…

Regardless of how you define it, I knew enough of what was going on, what was going on with him.

With a quick sigh, I raised my hand and knocked on the door. Three knocks.

I waited in silence, listening for a sign on movement from inside the house.

Nothing.

After another moment, I knocked again. Three more knocks.

I guess the second set alerted him that I wasn't going away because I heard movement from the other side of the door. Footsteps made their way closer and closer and I heard the locks turn. Then the door swung open. To say his appearance had caught me off guard would be an understatement.

Most days, he looked good, clean, well put together. More of my clever listening skills told me that most of the women who had been in his presence were impressed. They were always going on about his eyes. Something about the ocean.

Today however, Don Flack Jr. looked different.

He hadn't shaved in a while, I could tell by the shadow of hair gracing his jaw line. He hair was muddled and the dark shirt her wore was wrinkled. I didn't have on my glasses but I could have sworn there was a stain on it too.

I could tell when he saw me, he was surprised. His eyes had widened, the pools of blue focusing in on my presence. The moment didn't last long because as quickly as they had widened, they returned to a state of annoyance.

I saw him watch me, waiting to see if I was going to make the first move. I wanted to, but I couldn't speak as his current physical state was surprising.

He let out a sigh, looking past me as if expecting someone else before meeting my gaze again.

"Stella send you?"

His voice was different, darker almost and his accent was stronger.

I wondered why he asked me that but it was clear.

More than one attempt of helping him come out of his depression had been made, undoubtedly at the hands of Stella.

"No. I, uh, came on my own." I'm was surprised at how nervous I seemed to be. My voice shook, but I cleared my throat and held my ground. "I just wanted to talk Don."

For a minute I thought he was going to slam the door in my face. But he didn't. Instead, he turned around and walked back into the apartment.

Taking the lack of door slamming as a 'come on in', I moved slowly into the threshold and closed the door behind me.

That's when I noticed the apartment.

It was in complete disarray. And dark. The only light on was coming from a small lamp rested on an end table. There was a strong, almost sickening smell of alcohol in the room. I had never been to his apartment in the past but I was sure it wouldn't have looked this. Each surface was littered with trash: old newspapers, empty pizza boxes and take out containers. Empty beer bottles were spread throughout the apartment; so many that I lost count.

And I was good at math.

Don had seated himself in a chair in the living room. He picked a bottle up from the floor, and when noticing it was empty, dropped it back to where it was in anger. He looked around, finding a half empty bottle and taking a sip.

I guess he saw it as half full.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" My mother always told me to mind my manners.

He shrugged and mumbled something under his breath. I didn't her a no so, always the optimist, I took it as a yes.

I moved to sit on the sofa adjacent to where he sat. I felt something under me, and reached and pulled out a stack of envelopes. I looked at Don, checking to see if he was watching me.

He was.

I suppressed the feeling to look at who they were from and sat them on the coffee table neatly. Figured I'd give him a head start on his spring cleaning.

With a sigh, I leaned back in my seat and rested my hands in my lap.

We sat in silence for what felt like hours. It was probably only five minutes. I was never good with waiting.

"How have you been?" It was a stupid question but I wanted to get him talking.

His dark eyes stayed on me while he answered. "Fantastic," he started, his voice still rough. "I woke up this morning, found out I won the lottery, and I decided to buy an island."

Well, at least he was talking.

"Listen Don, I just wanted to come and tell you…"

"Tell me what?" he interrupted harshly. "That you're about sorry about what happened? That you miss Jess as much as I do? Or better yet, you're going to tell me that you understand what I'm going through. That's probably my favorite." The sarcasm rolled rudely off of every word.

"So I'm not the first one to visit." I knew I wasn't.

He laughed at the question. "And I'm sure you won't be the last." Another swig of his beer.

"I don't know what everyone has said but they just want to help you Don."

I don't what triggered his anger but something did. "Help! How can they possibly help me? Better yet, how can you help me Sid? Can you bring her back to life? Can you take me back in time? Huh?" He was yelling now. I don't know if he realized it or not but he was.

I didn't say anything. Though I wasn't a psychiatrist, I knew venting was probably a good thing. Hopefully.

"So go ahead Sid, tell me it'll get better. Tell me you know how I'm feeling. Tell me you know what I'm going through."

"I do."

This surprised him. He was on the edge of his chair now, breathing heavily.

"Really? You understand? Answer me this Sid, have you ever had a girlfriend get killed?" His angered had returned.

"Yes."

The room was silent, only the sound of Don's breathing reaching our ears. He watched me, I could feel it, but I couldn't look at him. I focused my gaze on one of the newspapers laying on the coffee table. Apparently it was going to rain on Saturday.

"Her name was Emily," I started, knowing I had his attention. "I was 24 and had just finished medical school. My father wanted me to go right into a residency, you know, not waste any time."

"But I didn't want to. I wanted to take a break, see the world for a bit. My father thought it was a bad idea but I did it anyway. I used all of the money I had saved and decided to go to France."

As I was talking the memories of my past slowly started to come back. For a minute I forgot about Don and Jess and everything else. "We met on the plane. She was going to France for the same reason. She was on her way to law school and against her mother's wishes she took the year off to travel. Something about her, I fell in love with from the moment I saw her. She was beautiful, smart, funny. I swore to myself I was going to marry that girl."

"We spent two months in France together. The plan was to go home, grab our things, say goodbye to our families and then run off together. I got home, told my folks, pack my things and hit the road. We lived about two hours apart and planned to meet at the airport. I went and waited for her."

"She didn't come?" Don's question reminded me of why I was there. I did my best to push my own feelings aside but Emily's green eyes and bright smile were planted in my mind.

I shook my head. "She was in a car accident on her way to the airport. She was speeding, the other driver was speeding. I never saw her again. For years I carried the burden that I killed her. She was only in the car to come see me. But thing is Don, grief is a powerful weapon that can literally kill you. You have to be strong, and understand that the sick feeling you have, rooted deep in your heart will past."

There was another period of silence between us. This one lasted longer than the other. My thoughts lingered on the memory Emily while I can only assume his rested on Jess.

"I killed him."

I looked up, confused at what he had just said. "Killed who?" I hated to ask but I had to.

"The son of a bitch that murdered Jess."

It was my turn to be surprised. I knew that he had been killed, everyone had. I didn't know it was Don. "You did what you had to do…"

"He wasn't armed," he interjected. "I had hit him in the leg and he was down. He wasn't armed."

Then I had understood. It all made sense. Don had been bearing both the loss of a loved one and the acts of his anger.

I watched him and in the moments just passed, he already looked better. His breathing had slowed and his eyes regained some color. I realized then that he had never told anyone about what happened in the raid.

"Don, I'm sorry." I didn't know what else to say. That feeling, I didn't understand.

"Does it get easier?"

I could hear the hope in his voice, wishing I would say everything gets better.

"In ways," I told him. "The memory never goes away. You never forget their smile, or their laugh, or the way they would say you're name when you they were mad at you. But you do learn how to turn their memory into a positive thing."

"I don't want to forget her." His admission was filled with sadness and his voice seemed to be giving in.

"You won't. You never will," I told him confidently. I knew he wouldn't but that was something that he would have to learn on his own.

I watched him as he ran his hands over his face. The forgotten beer bottle rested at his feet. He pinched the bridge of his nose before resting his head in his hands.

"Have you put anything in your stomach today other than beer?" I asked him, my curiosity peeking.

He shook his head, as I would have guessed.

I stood from the sofa and let out what my wife calls an old man groan. "Alright, come with me."

He looked up at me. "Where?"

"Back to my house. My wife is doing her homemade baked ziti tonight."

"Sid, I couldn't impose. I'm not ready…"

"Nonsense," I tell him. "I'm a doctor first and foremost and there's no way I'm going to allow you not to eat." I love when I can play the doctor card.

"I'll just order something…"

"No you won't. You need real food."

I could tell he wanted to argue but lacked the energy. When he stood up and went to search for his jacket, I held in the smile threatening to take over my face.

He emerged from another room, dressed in a different shirt and a jacket. He looked in my direction, with a sigh. "Lead the way."

We made our way out of the building and towards my apartment, following the same path I took on my way to his.

The autumn air surrounded us in a calm stillness as we walked in silence. To this day, I still don't know what led me to his door. It could've been the weather. I'm an enthusiast of autumn.

Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.

This is just a small drabble about two of my favorite characters. For the sake of the story, the confrontation between Mac and Don in Cuckoo's Nest never took place, though I enjoyed it very much. Any thoughts are more than welcome and I thank anyone who reads in advance.

~Pecan Tweet