Lost love had Billy thinking of the past, and questioning life. His memories turned to a childhood friend, a companion now lost, but once much like a brother. The years had lead Steve and he in different directions, until he had no idea where life had taken his best friend.
Linda crawled from bed, more out of habit than need. The house was still and quiet. Only the ticking of the big grandfather clock made any sound at all. She had thought of selling it, as it was a painful reminder of a husband lost much too soon. Cancer had eaten to the bone before he finally passed. It was he that had given her the time piece as a present when they first bought their home. Now its endless clicks and bells were a constant reminder of happier times.
By years of routine, she perked coffee and settled into a morning that was as lonely and slow as her life had become. Her children grown, they had only bits and pieces of their days to spend with her. Mostly it was just her, and she wasn't motivated to change it much.
Even shaving had become an effort for the young man. Billy had to fight just to motivate his self through each day since his wife left. The razor felt almost painful to his skin, but everything had become painful. His body hurt, his soul ached, as depression wracked his body and mind. Too young to feel that way, the dark-headed man knew he had to pick himself up some way. Though he wasn't sure were to find Steve, he knew who would know where he was. His mother still lived by his parents. She would know.
Cleaned up, looking a bit smarter than he had in some time, he drove to his old neighborhood. His worn car pulled into the empty drive, and he wasn't sure she would even be home. After driving all that way, it was worth a knock he figured. Climbing from the door, he made his way along the narrow walk. The flowers had overgrown it mostly. They always kept an obsessively neat yard, and it seemed quite strange. He remembered as a kid how perfect everything always seemed with them.
Ringing the bell, he heard footsteps in the hall beyond the heavy wooden door. It opened, and Linda was standing there, still in her robe. He felt suddenly embarrassed that he had harassed her much too early.
When Linda opened the door to find her son's friend, she felt suddenly elated to have any distraction from the loneliness. She beamed as she opened the door.
"Billy, what a nice surprise," the middle-aged woman trilled.
She looked a fine as always. Out of years of habit, she still cared for herself well. Part Native American Indian, she had ruddy, dark skin and jet black hair. Her dark eyes were bottomless and deep. Though some wrinkles had lined the corners of her eyes, and a few streaks of silver had appeared, she was always just so. More than once as a teen she had been the subject of his boyhood fantasies.
"Hello Mrs. Clark," he said childishly from pure reflex. "I have been thinking of Steve recently, and I was wondering if I could trouble you for his number? I tried looking it up, but I guess it is unlisted."
"Yeah, they've always had an unlisted number," she replied. "Why don't you come in?"
He stepped back in time as he entered the hall that he had visited over and over with his best friend. The perfect living room that they were never allowed in remained the same down to the big clock that always chimed on time. Forbidden as a child, it was now open to him as an adult, as she led him to the sofa.
"Well how have you been?" she asks.
Billy didn't want to depress her with all his tragedy so he said he had been fine. He explained he was divorced, and had never had any children. Asking how she was, he was saddened to find out her husband had died. They spent hours talking of the past, of the present, and of whatever came up. Two lonely people found solstice in one another. The empty house filled with joy and light as they laughed and shared secretes of times gone by.
It had been years for each of them, and the familiarity soon had Billy noticing the part in her robe that showed the soft skin over her breasts; a teasing glimpse of the fullness of womanhood at her chest. Though he fought against his mind and diverted his eyes, he couldn't help but see the smooth thighs that seemed to flow from the hen of the nightgown she wore. Her robe had slipped as she crossed her legs, revealing the view.
Even though he was struggling to hide it, Linda couldn't help but feel his hungry eyes sneaking peeks at her more private skin. It had been years since anyone had looked at her that way. It was then she noticed he was suddenly uncomfortably crossing his legs. She was sure the crotch of his jeans was much fuller than before. Now a forbidden thought flashed through her mind, an image of them together. She fought it away, feeling ashamed for even daring to think such a thing. Forcing her mind off him, she tried to return to their conversation.
