Avenue E
Christopher Nordahl Richard fidgeted behind the wheel of his car, waiting for the train to pass and watching his breath fog up against the windshield. It was snowing in Lac-Megantic. He lit a cigarette for warmth and ran a hand over his freshly shaven head as he exhaled, feeling the bumps where hair would grow if he ever gave it a chance. Richard watched the freight cars and allowed his consciousness to drift off in the monotonous rush of cargo and exhaust. It was an odd place for a train, or maybe more so it was an odd place for a house, built just 100 meters from the tracks with Avenue E leading directly up the drive way. He hadn’t seen that road in four years. He stood before the doorway of the house, examining its peeling paint. He thought about turning back for a brief moment, but what point was there? It wasn’t as if he had any other place to go. He lifted the heavy knocker and brought it down against the door. There was a moment of silence before the three locks that kept the house safe from the outside world slowly began to turn. The door jerked halfway open as a woman’s perpetually glassy gaze rose to meet Richard’s. “Hi Mom.” The woman let out a strangled whimper as she surveyed the figure standing before her. A white t-shirt full of holes firmly tucked into jet-black jeans and a thick leather belt, topped off with combat boots and a deflated parka. “Can I come in?” Richard asked. She paused, perhaps deciding whether or not the man standing before her was in fact her son.
Spring 2014
69