Goldfish

Charlie Taylor packed his suitcase and hit the road. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t want the hysterics. He took the elevator down and came out pulling his suitcase, passing the polished brass mailboxes on his left and the high empty doorman’s desk on his right where a lone desk lamp glowed dimly. A long shadow crisscrossed the checkered floor. The wheels of his suitcase echoed in the murky emptiness. He saw himself in the long window as he approached the front door. The street beyond the glass was black. Opening the door, and with a bit of struggle, Charlie found himself out in the night on the sidewalk. The heavy door slammed shut behind him with a thump he hadn’t expected to be so loud.

He smelled the scent of freedom which strangely smelled also a bit like the goldfish bowl where he kept his turtle.

He was hoping the pain in his chest would clear, but it didn’t, and it was then Charlie remembered he had left his key beside the goldfish bowl with a note to his mother on the proper care and feeding of his pet. So…he couldn’t go back now if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to, it was time to leave. It was time to let his parents know they had to stop the screaming and the fighting and the drinking…and the rest.

He could see a traffic light down the block flashing red in a strange, never before been seen emptiness of a street.

I can’t leave now, Charlie thought. I need more money. He closed his eyes, his finger ready on the buzzer for 1109. He was a coward if he buzzed, and he knew he would always be a coward if he buzzed, and then he buzzed.

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