Opportunity Lost

A car door had slammed out on the street a minute before; that was the only reason he heard the soft knock at the door.

At this hour of the morning there was silence. No one else was fool enough to be up this early. S had been up this early. Most often, she was just falling asleep due to the insomnia and body aches that kept her restless.

He wondered if it might be her at the door. Whenever there was an unexpected knock, he always hoped it might be her, but he’d fallen out of the habit as the years passed.

When he left, she was seeing someone else. He’d said all the right things, but he was shattered. He knew he was a fool to have felt the jealousy and the anger, but he couldn’t help how he felt. Still, he didn’t want to interfere with her life.

He’d put the money in the account, and emailed her the access information, telling her if she was ever interested in taking the shot they hadn’t had to withdraw the money and buy a plane ticket to wherever he was. She said he was ridiculous – she’d said that often – but he had insisted. That had been ten years ago.

He checked the account from time to time, and they had stayed in contact, although that too had slackened over the years.

His anticipation at random knocks on the door had faded as the money continued to sit untouched and he was met with another set of Jehovah’s Witnesses or someone from the electric company asking him to switch to wind power.

As the soft knock came again, nervous anticipation raised the hair on his arms. Two days before he’d checked the account and the money had been gone.

 

 

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Saturday Afternoons

They strolled through the quad’s explosion of orange and red leaves, which dotted the perfect green lawn. The boys would run off together, one the receiver and one the defender, and he would loft the football in a high arching spiral. The leather would crunch amongst the leaves as the boys rolled on the ground laughing.

He and Pete used to do the same thing with Pop, though they would end up coming to blows after the third or fourth tumble. He missed Pete.

Those early September afternoons, much like this one had been perfect, the heat wasn’t oppressive like it was in summer, but the cold didn’t bite you like it could in the fall, the sunshine was plentiful in the cloudless sky.

It was a good day to be alive. He wished Pete were here to see it. They’d talked about going to college here to play football, and a hundred other dreams.

And then high school had come and they’d taken different paths, their old dreams becoming lost memories. He wondered what his boys would do. If they would stick together, or drift apart over time. He wanted to believe blood was a binder, but he knew not to put hope in clichés.

Uncle Ted had met Pop at the gate before each game. While the boys ran the sidelines and played pick-up games, Pop and Uncle Ted would stand at the top of the bleachers and watch the game.

He could hear the noise of the crowd and the scratch of the announcer’s voice over the PA as they approached the brick gates. As he did every time, he looked for Pete, even though he knew he wouldn’t be there.

The boys went to meet their friends. He climbed to the top of the bleachers alone.

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