Nick pulled up across from 141 Hackles St. He dropped his kickstand, leaned into it, and got off his bike. He looked at the house – he was nervous. What was he going to say to her? Would she even be here? The house was three stories, gray and old. Rotating colors pressed against the inside of the first-floor windows. Nick could feel the music everywhere but his ears.
Walking around his bike, Nick crept up the walkway to the front door. Last time he was here, it was with his friends. They were all looking for a thrill. They found several; he found one. With her. He had delicate scars to help him remember.
Nick rang the bell. There was no immediate response. Did he expect one? He turned around and looked back down the path. His bike was the only vehicle on the street. He knew when the door opened behind him because he could hear the music rushing at him.
A teenage boy, bathed in random colors, was standing in the open doorway. Nick smiled, made to speak, and then realized the boy wouldn’t be able to hear him over the music. He showed the youth a picture from his wallet. It was of an old woman on a porch rocker. The boy turned around and waved over his shoulder for Nick to follow.
They went through the main room; several other partygoers were milling about and talking to each other. At the end of a hallway, the boy led Nick to a staircase and stopped. The boy pointed up the stairs and then walked back out to the main room.
Abandoned and with no other direction, Nick climbed the stairs. The music faded as he ascended. He reached the top floor, finding another hallway. Along one wall were three closed doors and then an open one at the end. He remembered from last year that she was through the open passage.
Nick stepped into a dark room. As his eyes adjusted, a silhouette materialized against the far window. He recognized her. He didn’t know her name, but he knew her. Nick walked over to the young woman and sat down next to her. She looked over at him, then returned her gaze to the window.
“I …,” began Nick.
Without looking, she touched his lips to stem his words. It burned, but it was loving.
