The Man at the End of the World

He lived alone. It had been like this for a while. Always in the same house. It stood there alone, too, a little apart from the other houses. No one really could figure out why that house seemed to stand alone. City surveyors had even come out to measure its distance from the next closest house and found it was right within the average distance. But standing across the street, people always said that it looked like it stood a little apart.
It was at the end of the street, next to a forest preserve. The forest wasn’t much to look at; most of the trees had been knocked down in the last hurricane, and the ones still standing were rotting from inside out. Anyone could see straight through to the other side, where another housing development was. The house was only one story; this was unusual because all the other houses on the block were two stories. They hadn’t always been two stories, but there had been an economic boom in the past few years, and the owners had decided to upgrade or sell to other people who would upgrade.
The front yard was full of dirt on one side of the walkway and full of unkempt grass and weeds on the other. Neighbors guessed that he had tried to grow a garden on the dirt side but couldn’t. No one really knew for sure though, because people so rarely saw him anymore.
On the rare times that he did come out, he wouldn’t say more than two words of greeting to anyone before jumping into his two-door coupe with the nasty dent on the passenger side and driving away to who knows where. One neighbor even claimed that he had grunted a greeting to her on one occasion. No one doubted it. Despite all this, people still liked him. After all, he was a quiet neighbor who never made any trouble. And, well, there had been that thing that happened to him some years back. They understood, or thought they understood, why he was the way he was. There was no telling, they would say to each other, how they would have reacted to something like that.

It so happened that one afternoon he decided to go out. He stepped through the threshold of the front door and was immediately seen by one of the neighbors. This was one of the bolder neighbors, who fancied himself a neighborhood leader, sort of like a “team captain” as he would say to his wife. The neighbor purposefully strove in his direction and stopped just short of his property. “Nice afternoon, ay Mick! How you doin’ today?” Despite all the other times he had tried to open a conversation and gotten nothing, he still expected a full, cheerful greeting.
“I’m alright.” Mick said quietly. He was standing so that the car separated the two of them and stole a quick glance in his neighbor’s direction. Everyone on the block knew what that glance meant: We’ve exchanged those trivial pleasantries so can you please leave me alone? The neighbor, not in the least bit thrown off by the glance, began chattering away about the weather and football and politics, all while Mick shifted his weight from foot to foot and played with his keys. Eventually Mick grew tired of waiting and got into his car. He turned the keys and the engine sputtered to life, seemingly angry at being woken. The neighbor, finally getting the message, turned and walked away.
He drove slowly, deliberately, coming to a complete stop at every stop sign or yellow light. He kept the windows rolled up and pundits yelled quietly from the speakers behind him. Ten minutes later, he pulled into the grocery store.
He only needed a couple of things, but he grabbed a cart and went down every aisle. He came to a stop in aisle 5 because he needed rice. There was no one else in the aisle except for a woman who was standing about twelve feet away on the other side. He took a quick glance at her before continuing the rice examination.
She, on the other hand, was intently staring at him. She moved to his side of the aisle and continued staring. He instinctively felt her eyes on him, although this was nothing new for him considering the fact that he thought everyone was staring at him always. He glanced again at her and his fears were confirmed: she was indeed looking at him. Slowly, painfully he twisted his head to make his eyes meet hers. “Well?” he said.
“Michael Havent?” she asked.
“It’s Mick.”
“Oh my god, Michael Havent, I haven’t see you in years! Where have you been? What have you been up to?” she blurted out. Quietly, to herself, she said, “My god, Michael Havent.” She shook her head and smiled.
“Uh, well, sorry, but, who are you?” Mick asked.
“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have expected you to recognize me, after all, it’s been such a long time. Mary Levins.”
Mick shook his head.
“From high school?”
Mick squinted his eyes, then exclaimed, “Oh! Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. I was a little absorbed in a-,” he held up the bag of rice and looked at it as though it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen, “well, anyway, it really is nice to see you again.” Mick let out a genuine smile.
“It sure is. Uh, hey, did you maybe want to get a cup of coffee, catch up? I really am not doing anything right now, I don’t know if you are, but…” she trailed off.
Mick thought about it for a second and took another look at the rice in his hand. “Yeah, sure, just let me pay for this.”

“So, did you ever get married?” she asked. She took a sip of cold coffee, never taking her eyes off his.
“Well, yes, but it didn’t really work out,” he said. She kept his eyes on his, which only intensified the silence after his answer. Mick began to get uncomfortable.
“And you? Ever tie the knot?” he broke the silence.
“Me? Yes, unfortunately, I was married twice. The first time was to Chris Peters- you might remember him, the football player from high school- yeah, well, let’s just say he was a little different after we got married. My second husband was a workaholic, so I had to get out. I have a son from the first marriage- See, there he is- and two girls from the second- yeah, aren’t they cute? Did you ever have kids?” she finished.
“No, no, um, no,” he said.
“Well, this was really great, god, has it really been an hour? I should be getting home…” she trailed off.
“Oh, yeah, well, this was great; it was uh, great seeing you again.”
“Yeah,” she looked at him expectantly. He nodded and smiled.
“Do you want to get together again, maybe tomorrow, maybe over dinner?” she asked.
“Uh, sure, sure.”
“Great, well, here’s my number,” she said, and then turned and walked out.

Two months passed by. Mick and Mary continued to date, and Mick gradually became more social, even to the neighbors. He worked in his yard now; the dirt on the one side was now a nice, little garden. Whenever he was out there, he would wave to neighbors and once in a while he would even go over to them and chat. The neighbors now voiced approval and praise about Mick. Finally, they would say, he’s getting with the picture; finally, he’s getting on with his life. Apparently, they would say in whispers for fear of spoiling it, he’s got plans for expanding his house. Two stories. Very nice.

They were out at dinner one night. One of those nice, expensive restaurants with the stiff, uncomfortable chairs and the lit candles in the middle of the table. It was the two month anniversary of that first day in the grocery store.
Mick fumbled with his menu, dropping it on the floor and leaning over to pick it up. He took a look at the cloth napkin that was wrapped around his silverware, actually gold ware; at least it was gold-colored. He unraveled it and placed it on his lap. It wasn’t good enough though, and he kept adjusting it; this went on for a good two minutes. Mary sat, leaning forward, elbows on the table and hands under chin. She gazed at Mick. Her face changed shades with the flicker of the candle.
“Michael,” she whispered. Mick looked up, trying to remember where he was.
“This place, it’s so nice. You didn’t have to take me here.”
“Yeah, well, I thought it was about time we went somewhere fancy. I wanted to show you off,” he said. She smiled a pleased smile. He had said the right thing.
Mick went back to adjusting the cloth napkin on his lap, and Mary went back to gazing at him.
“Mary?” Mick looked up, as Mary turned to look for the voice behind her.
“Oh, wow, Derek, it’s so nice to see you here.” A thickset man with graying hair flashed a smile.
“Michael, this is an old friend from college, Derek Winston, Derek, this is Mick, we’ve been dating for a couple months.”
“Hey, it’s nice to meet you Rick,” Derek said.
“Actually it’s Mick.”
“Oh, sorry Nick.”
“No, it’s Mick, with an ‘m’ as in mom.”
“Oh, you were in Nam? Yeah, I had a couple friends in Nam, too.”
“Great. Great,” Mick said. He lapsed into silence.
“So Mary, what have you been up to? Where’ve you been?” Derek asked.
“Well…” she began as she turned her chair to see him.
Mick watched a conversation unfold between the two old friends. For some reason, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. First, his elbows were more comfortable on the table, then on his lap. His leg was crossed; then it wasn’t. He leaned back; then he leaned forward. He watched every smile, every laugh, every joke. He caught every word, every wink, every hand gesture. He also noticed that Derek caught every word.
He went to the bathroom. When he came back, they were still talking. Only when the food arrived did Mary turn her chair back around and face him. Every now and then, she would twist her head and make some little joke or comment to Derek, who just happened to turn his head at the exact same moment.

“I had a great time tonight,” Mary said as they pulled up to her house.
“I noticed,” Mick muttered.
“What?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m glad, but, look, we have to talk.”
She tilted her head and looked intently at him. She put her hand over his. “What do we have to talk about?” She smiled.
“Well,” he let out a sigh, “I really don’t think this is going to happen.”
“What?”
“Us. I don’t think it’s working out.”
“What? Why? Tell me, tell me now what’s wrong.”
“I just, well, I just don’t think there is anything between us and I don’t want to drag out something that is clearly not going to last.”
“I don’t understand. I can’t understand. At dinner everything seemed so perfect.”
“Look, it’s over alright, go have fun with James or whatever his name is.”
“James? Who? If you mean Derek he was just a friend, we were just,”
He cut her off, “I really don’t want to hear any of this; I just want you to get out of the car so I can go home.” He stared forward, both hands on the wheel.
She looked at him for a few seconds, then got out of the car.

A few days passed. Mary called Mick three or four times, but he never picked up. She went to his house to talk to him, and was shocked to see the change. What had once been a nice garden was now dirt and broken flowers; it looked like someone had stomped and kicked all around in it. Wood that was supposed to be for the second story was strewn all about the yard. The car was in the driveway, though, so she figured she would be getting to the bottom of whatever was wrong very soon.
She stood on tiptoes to see in through the door-window. Everything looked dark inside. She went to the side of the house to see if the view was any better; it wasn’t, the shades were drawn. She knocked on the door.
“It’s open!” she heard a voice yell from somewhere inside.
She opened the door and stepped through the threshold, immediately enveloped by the darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed that the house was empty: there was no furniture, no wall hangings, no carpets, no nothing.
Finally, she found him at the end of the house. The room was empty except for a table, a chair and a man. “Michael?” No answer. She walked around, so that she was directly in his view, with only the table in between them. On the table was a bottle, some sort of liquor probably, a shot glass, sunglasses, and a picture in a frame which she couldn’t make out because it was dark and it was facing him.
“Michael. Michael Havent,” she said firmly. The man slowly lifted his head up and stared at her. He was slumped in the chair, his hands gripped the armrests. Drunk, probably, she thought to herself. She picked up the shot glass; it looked clean. She sniffed it; there was no smell. Probably drank straight from the bottle. Typical male.
“Well? What do you want?” he asked. There was no look of recognition on his face.
“Michael, it’s me, don’t you recognize me? Or are you too drunk even for that?” she asked.
He stared at her for a few seconds longer. “I know who you are, Lila,” he finally said.
“Lila? Michael it’s me, Mary.”
“I know what you did, Lila.”
“Michael.”
“I know you betrayed me, you whore, with that bastard James.”
“What are you talking about? Michael there is no Lila, it’s just you and me, you, Michael Havent, and me, Mary Levins.”
“You didn’t think I knew, didn’t think I ever expected it. Well, I knew the whole time, the entire time.”
She stared, waiting for him to come to his senses.
“Everyone thought you died; they all thought I killed you. Just because of the dent in the car. What the hell? Me killing you would have been better than what you did to me.”
“What did I do to you, Michael?” Mary asked.
“You ran away, you ran away with your college boyfriend, James, I’ll never forget his name now, you left me, your husband, your loving husband, for some prick who cheated on you in college. And why did you do this to me? Why did you ruin everything I thought I knew? Only you know that, you didn’t think it was necessary to tell me.”
“Michael, I can’t listen to this anymore, it’s me, Mary, Mary Levins. I never cheated on you, I didn’t leave you and I won’t. We’ll get through this.”
“I know it’s you, Lila, I know it’s you. Same woman, different face! As if you could trick me again. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Shame on you. Lots and lots of shame.”
“Michael, snap out of it!”
“Why should I? Why should I do anything? Especially anything that you suggest. Nothing matters anymore, nothing is sacred anymore. Yeah. Everything’s gone, all the good times, hell, maybe there were no good times, maybe just bad times, but that was better than nothing.”
“Michael, let’s bring the good times back, me and you. Come on, honey, come on, it’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want anything. And stop calling me Michael. It’s Mick. Michael left when you left, he couldn’t handle things anymore.”
“I’m going to get some help. I will be back real soon, honey, real soon. Just stay put,” she said.
“Fine, just leave. Go. I’ll just sit here and wait for the world to end. Should be soon, anyway.” He reached out and grabbed the sunglasses. As he put them on, he slumped further down the chair.
Mary got up to leave when she realized there was nothing she could do. She left him there, a man wearing sunglasses sitting in a dark house with no furniture. She left him there, a man waiting on the world to end, a man waiting on a definite end.