The Stranger

James Haver walked down the street toward his house. It was a cool, crisp autumn evening and other than the sound of children running from house to house. The only sound James heard was the crunch of dry, brittle leaves underneath his feet.

Adjusting his mask, James felt his breathing become heavy and remorseful. He was on his way to see his family. James had not seen since his arrest for drugs two years ago. The only correspondence he had received from his wife were the divorce papers which he signed dutifully. James knew that he deserved his family’s derision and wife’s anger. His addictions led him to steal from his own family. Walking toward the house, he remembered with shame breaking into his daughter’s piggy bank to get money. Inwardly, he still cringed at the memory of his wife shouting at him until he turned and struck her. James stopped moving as the emotion welled up in him. He felt his fists balled up as he remembered his daughter screaming. That sound resonated in James’ head every night in prison.

Realizing that he was standing motionless on the sidewalk, James forced himself to move forward. His house was the next block over and he wanted to face his family with some semblance of dignity. James did not expect a warm reception from his family. In the prison’s rehab, he learned that he needed to ask for their forgiveness. Checking his pocket, he felt for the thin sheet of paper where he had written down what he wanted to say. James relaxed when he felt the rough paper against his fingertips. His talking points, assured his counselor, would help James overcome his awkwardness in trying to reunite with his family.

James slowed again when he reached a large maple tree next to his house. The tree shielded his view of the house and provided him with a temporary reprieve. James adjusted his mask and leaned against the maple. His legs seemed to buckle beneath him and the shouts of children running through the neighborhood seemed strangely amplified. Putting his hand on the bark, James picked at it finding comfort in the act as pieces of bark fell to the ground. He started when he heard a voice. He started when he heard a voice.

“Your man,” asked the woman coming out of the house next door, “Are you alright?”

James nodded and stepped around the tree. He stopped in sight of the house. There was a “For Sale” sign on it. The house looked dilapidated. James felt himself go into shock. He felt his legs give out again. He turned and spoke to Ms. Edith who appeared to be watching him carefully. As soon as he spoke, James felt himself go into shock. He felt his legs give out again. He turned and spoke to Ms. Edith who appeared to be watching him carefully. As soon as he spoke, James realized that his voice sounded muffled but he did not remove his mask.

“What happened to these people?” said James gesturing toward his old home.

“Oh,” said Ms. Edith, her eyes gleaming with fresh gossip, “it’s a tragic story.”

“That family,” she said gesturing grandly toward the house “was torn apart by drugs.” She walked down her walkway towards James. “The father was arrested for possession of illegal substances.” She waited to see the impact of her words on James, but he remained immovable, so she continued.

“He was a disgusting human being” she said with a shudder, “always drunk or high, beat his wife and never provided for his family. Ms. Edith shook her head. “One night, he went crazy and beat up his wife so badly that his daughter called the police.”

“What happened to his wife and daughter?” asked James quietly.

“Oh,” she said, “they left.” “One day, poof, just gone.” She looked up and down the street and leaned in toward James. “I think she was afraid of her husband coming back.”

James didn’t respond. He nodded his thanks and continued down the street. Ms. Edith watched him walk away with curiosity. She turned and smiled as she saw her husband open the front door and walk down to join her.

“Who was that?” he asked, gesturing toward James who was beginning to fade into the distance.

“No idea,” replied Ms. Edith. “I think he is just a stranger passing through.”

Author’s Note: This is the first draft of this story. I would appreciate any reviews that could help with future drafts.