“Hello? Are you there?” The voice called out after knocking decidedly on the decrepit looking house. “Please open the door. I need to talk to you.”
I had just woken up from my nap. I really needed the sleep these days. A knock on my door was unheard of — no one came to visit me unless they were dying or wanted money. Not like coming to me would do them much help. I have no money, and there is certainly no guarantee that I would help them if they were dying. It was a bad idea all around, which is why I was baffled to hear the rapid knocks on my back door. No one was even supposed to know that I was here. Not only was I here to get away from other people, other people should be actively avoiding me. I don't enjoy other people, and it is my understanding that they don't typically enjoy my company either. A healthy disconnect from the rest of the world was very much needed.
“Seriously, open the door.”
It had only taken me a second to recognize that voice. I would know it anywhere. I had heard it laugh melodiously at my stupid jokes, sob uncontrollably at the brutality of life, and scream until it’s throat was raw and bleeding. Now, now it was full of desperation. Desperation somehow sounded different than what I was used to hearing. Joy, misery, anger: those were all emotions that I could deal with. Those were emotions that would have allowed me to get my lazy ass off of the couch, walk over to the door, and look her in the eyes.
But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t bring myself to stand up. I couldn’t move at all. Not with her out there, knocking on my back door with such purpose. God, I hated how well she knew me. She knew that I never liked to use the front door — knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that I would open the front door. I mean, I wasn’t going to open the back...but there was more of a chance with that one. And she knew that, damn her. She knew that fact just like she knew all of the others. She knew too much about me...she had gotten too close. This was her fault, and she should know that too.
It’s her fault that I had to leave. I needed to be away from her. You see, it was her fault that I had gotten into my car three nights ago and drove 14 hours straight through the night to get here. She was the reason that I needed to get away — escape the world that she had created for me.
How did she find me here? Here, in the middle of nowhere. No other houses in sight, no stores within miles. Did I mention the place to her at all? I couldn’t remember saying anything to her, but then again there were things that I told her that I couldn’t even understand myself. Could she read my mind? See directly into my soul and know everything that I was thinking? That would be crazy. But was it any crazier than the way that she made me feel when I was with her? Any crazier than the sparks that flew whenever we touched, or the level of understanding that she seemed to have for my ever racing mind? Perhaps nothing in the world was crazier than the notion of love — of how much love one person could throw at another human being.
Then again, I’m convinced that I’m the crazy one. Crazy for leaving, crazy for falling in love with her in the first place. But I would have been crazy for staying. I’m crazy and she’s crazy too. Crazy for approaching me first, for falling in love with me — crazy for wanting to stay. We’re both the same amount of crazy, and perhaps that’s why she’s here.
“Jess, please. I know you’re in there!”
Oh, of course she knew! I wanted to scream at her, curse her for following me here. We’re in no man’s land and I’m the no man...whatever the hell that means. I’m certain that it has something to do with solitude, and solitude means no beautiful, compassionate, crazy as hell woman who was stupid enough to attach herself to me. Solitude meant that I would finally be able to free myself from this madness that she labeled so eloquently as love. I wish she would just leave me alone. Forget about me and love someone else — someone worthy of her kind of crazy. Why was this so hard for her?
Her small fists began to pound against the door, desperation mingling with anger. Bang. Bang. Bang. She was hitting at door in front of her in a pattern that almost mimicked the pouring rain. She was relentless. Relentless, constant, steady, loud. I couldn’t take it anymore. It was torture to sit there and listen to her attempt to barge her way back into my life. Something about the banging brought me to my feet. I walked to the back door slowly, unsure of what I was about to do. I stopped, staring at the couple of inches that separated us. I couldn’t see her, but I didn’t have to. I knew what she must have looked like. Those big brown eyes of her filled with tears, her nose scrunched up in the center, her lips curled into a frown. I didn’t need to see her to really see her. I put my hand on the doorknob and stopped. I could open it. I could open it and let myself see her. I could pull her into my arms and hold her. I could say something to her — anything.
But I can’t. I can’t open the damn door. I can’t say anything to her. What the hell would I even say? There are no words to say to someone after leaving in the middle of the night. Not after disappearing without a single word to them. Not even a note had been left behind. I had said nothing to her that night, hadn’t even hinted at the events I knew would take place. I hadn’t even packed up my things. I, in no way, said goodbye to her. There was no way she should even want to see me or talk to me again, I had made sure of it.
And yet, she was out there. She had somehow followed me and she was here. On my back porch in the middle of nowhere. She had traveled all this way just for me...she would do anything for me, and I think that was what scared me so much. The problem with all of this was how much she cared. She cared too much and I didn’t care enough. She would travel to the ends of the Earth and I can’t even open the damn door. I’m a coward. I let fear walk all over me. She doesn’t deserve that.
“Jess…”
Her voice is dimming, she’s running out of energy. She is running out of hope. There is no way that she can plead anymore — she must be tired of looking at the door. Tired of talking to the door that wouldn’t open. She’s exhausted and it’s my fault. I’m an asshole and it seems that I’m the only one who knows it.
I opened my mouth to finally speak to her — or the idea of her — or whoever the hell was on the other side of that door.
“Go away.”
