It was the kind of rain that feels permanent, where
you can't remember any time when it wasn't grey and damp, and can't imagine any
time in the future when it will be dry.
Looking outside, Steve can only see umbrellas and
overcoats, blacks and greys to match the atmosphere. He walks back over towards
the fireplace and enjoys its glow, he lets his body absorb the warmth a little
bit. It's about time he went out. He tries to leave the house at least once
each day. Mostly it's errands, bread or milk or eggs. Even if there's not a
pressing need, it's always good to stock up on tea bags and stretch the legs.
With Steve’s money he could send someone out for his
groceries, but he likes the interaction. It’d be easy for him to get lost
spending too much time inside this big house, inside his head. Leaving is one
of the things he does to try and keep himself grounded, so he’ll set out at
even the slightest provocation .
That’s what makes Steve unusual for a hermit, his
constant need for personal interaction. The thing with him though, is that he
only wants it to be the girl at the shop, or one of the older men at the post
office. He likes human contact, but he doesn’t want more than the bare
necessity. “Hello”, “how are you”, “I’m fine thank you” then move on.
He supposes this is how he’ll live the remaining few years
of his life, mostly indoors, looking at the rain, reading a book or two, the
paper over his cup of tea, and maybe a little bit of the television in the
evening. He’s never wanted too much more than this. He still can’t shake it
though, that empty feeling he’s had since the last day at the office. Steve
couldn’t say he had any real friends at the company, most of his subordinates
had learned the way he liked to communicate, a pleasant and polite back and
forth and then straight to the facts. He was always polite, but then quickly
moved on to business.
As Steve was pulling on his overcoat and picking up
his black umbrella by its curved wooden handle he paused. He realised that he missed
them, all of the people who had worked for him. He still knew that he couldn’t
tell you a thing about their personal lives. They’d become his friends without
all of the detail of day to day life, he’d become fond of them simply by
proximity. Sure there were some who Steve disliked, but on the most part he
liked the people he’d worked with. Maybe he wasn’t the gruff unfriendly man he’d
always thought he was. Perhaps he could have made friends like everyone else
seemed to.
Oh well, it’s too late now he thought. He jangled his
keys in his pocket, opened the door, and headed off to say hello to whoever
would be behind the till at the shop.
