Mike stood under the grey sky, the chill of the autumn air seeping through his worn leather jacket. The jacket was a relic, much like the man who wore it, a holdover from a forgotten era. The signpost he leaned against was faded, the names of the streets barely legible, not that it mattered. Mike could find his way around blindfolded, drunk, and backwards. He’d grown up here, grown old here. It was fitting this signpost was at a crossroads. Isn’t that where you’re supposed to meet the devil?
“Sweet Child O’ Mine” blared through his earbuds, Axl Rose’s voice a raspy scream in his ears. It was a song from a different time, a time when Mike was young and full of dreams. Now, it was just noise filling the void, a futile attempt to drown out the silence of his life.
“Here I am, once again, leaning on a signpost with Axl Rose screaming in my ears,” Mike thought to himself, his breath misting in the cool air. “Not much has changed in the last 30 years.”
The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. He was staring down the barrel of fifty, his thinning hair more salt than pepper, lines etched deep around his eyes. He had nothing to show for his years except a rundown apartment, a job that barely paid the bills, and a string of failed relationships. He was stuck, trapped in a life that felt like a broken record, playing the same old song on repeat.
Mike looked up, his eyes tracing the path of a falling leaf as it spiraled down from the nearly bare tree above. It was beautiful in its descent, a dance of letting go. He envied that leaf, its freedom, its acceptance of the inevitable change. As the leaf finally touched the ground, Mike felt a pang of longing for something he couldn’t quite place. It was a familiar ache, a yearning for the vibrancy of his youth, for the dreams that had slipped through his fingers like sand.
A sudden vibration in his pocket broke his reverie. Fishing out his phone, he saw Cynthia’s name on the screen. With a heavy sigh, he answered the call, bracing himself for one of her usual requests veiled under false concern. “Mike, darling,” Cynthia’s sing-song voice flowed through the line, all honey and venom. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Just standing at a crossroads, contemplating life’s mysteries,” Mike replied dryly.
Cynthia chuckled, a sound that grated on his nerves. “Always the poet, aren’t you? Listen, I need a favor. Jennifer’s birthday is coming up, and I was hoping you could find time in your busy schedule to make an appearance.” The sarcasm dripped from every word.
Mike clenched his jaw, the mention of Jennifer’s birthday a dagger to his heart. He knew Cynthia’s idea of “making an appearance” meant putting on a facade for their daughter, pretending that everything was fine between them. But everything wasn’t fine, and hadn’t been for years.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mike replied, his voice steady despite the emotions raging through him. He glanced at the leaf that now lay still on the ground, its colors muted in the dim light. “I don’t want to disrupt her life with my presence.”
“Mike, don’t be like that,” Cynthia cooed, her tone falsely sweet. “She’s your daughter. It would mean the world to her if you showed up.”
The mention of Jennifer always struck a chord deep within him. He missed the little girl who used to paint his world with colors he hadn’t known existed. Despite the years that had passed since their last meaningful conversation, the longing to bridge the gap between them never waned.
His hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white. It wasn’t lost on him that Cynthia only called when she needed something, using Jennifer as a pawn was her favorite way to twist the dagger. She knew that when it came to her, he’d do just about anything.
“Sure, Cynthia. I’ll be there,” Mike replied, his voice devoid of any enthusiasm.
Cynthia’s response was filled with faux gratitude, her words laced with insincerity that made Mike’s skin crawl. She bid him goodbye with a saccharine tone, leaving him with a sense of emptiness that lingered long after the call had ended.
As Mike pocketed his phone and pushed himself off the signpost, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of being trapped in a cycle of obligations and unfulfilled promises. The weight of his own complacency bore down on him like a heavy shroud. When the music started again, it was transitioning into “November Rain”. The swan song for the best era of music, it was all down hill from there.