Into the Light

         It's sweltering in the car minutes after he's turned off the ignition; still, he sits, stares at the porch. He wants a sign from the house that its occupant wills him forward, wants this meeting, at least won't slam the door in his face.
         The paint's peeling. Marcie'd told him, weeks ago warned him the house wasn't bearing up; yet the reality startles him in a visceral way he'd not expected.
         Time to go––or never.
         He's out of the car when he sees the curtain sway. Slight movement, but something surges deep down. He'd not really allowed himself hope yet. Suddenly, he's up the steps, raising his fist to the door, nearly trips on a raised board.
         "Damn." He manages to whisper, knows she wouldn't like his cursing. He looks around, almost guilty. That's when he sees the window cracked. The sheer curtain flutters again. Shadows of a ceiling fan flicker in the room beyond. Its thrumming beats move inside him, driving the hope down deep through his veins.
         He turns, pauses at the top step to squint out into the glaring landscape, barren in the merciless sunlight. Sweat beads at his temples as he steps out into the light.