Heading Home (Short Story)

As the door pushed open, she was met with a familiar swoosh of cold air. It pinched her cheeks as she stepped over the threshold; off the pale linoleum and onto the damp, dead grass; out of harsh luminescence and into the stillness of the night. She knew by now what was needed on a night like this.

The door swung behind her but caught itself on its springs before slamming. It slowly eased to a close and she heard the click that told her the night was over, then she pulled on her gloves first. Then her hat—the black one—and finally the long grey scarf she had purchased just a couple weeks too long after her arrival.

She looked up to the fourth floor.

Fluorescent light oozed out of uniform slats and created a harsh glow that pierced into the darkness. The faint, low thud of a bass could still be heard even from where she stood. She sucked in a cold breath and let it out slowly before checking her phone then and beginning her walk down the block.

This concrete path that was once unfamiliar, once owned no landmark worth recognition in her mind, had been trodden now more times than she would care to admit. Always late, seldom alone. Tonight, it was late, but she was searching for alone.

There was one other waiting at the platform as she approached. A young man, who sat on one of the benches underneath the small shelter that was supposed to provide shade or rain cover. She kept her distance and leaned against a waist-high railing. A moment passed and she glanced at him, then at the digital signboard at the end of the platform. There were a few minutes still.

Her gloved hand reached into her long coat pocket and fiddled around. There were too many things to sift through, but they were all necessary. She didn’t like carrying a purse.

Finally, she identified long and delicate; she removed her work to examine it. Still good.

She placed paper between her lips and searched another minute for the sleek, hard touch of a lighter. She knew she had remembered one. One more glance at her companion before a flick of the light and a couple quick puffs to ignite her reward. She didn’t figure he would mind.

She thought it sometimes funny how invisible she was. It was as if she had lost her identity in the best of ways. She felt far, far away from everything she once knew, and even things that were here did not matter. In a place where she had no roots, no connections and no reason to stay, she was utterly free.

The yellow digits on the display dropped from 1 to sofort and she extinguished the burn on the underside of her shoe. It was how she had seen somebody do it earlier. She slipped the disfigured contraband back into her pocket, content with the buzz she would now ride until she reached her flat.

In the distance, two glowing white orbs slowly appeared. As they grew closer, the outline of the city streetcar began to take shape and the screech of metal on metal assured that sleep was only minutes away.

A lurching halt.

The push of a blinking green button.

She stepped through the center of two doors that slid open in opposite directions and walked to the back of the car. Almost empty. She rested her head on the window and watched as her new home inadvertently manifested around her.

Tonight, she was leaving Ulmenweg on her own time. This was a good night.