It was a typical Monday morning in November, rain splashing haphazardly against the windshield wetting what seemed to be everything. Gloom penetrated her surroundings and she could feel winter on her immediate horizon though the temps were still above 40 degrees.
She glanced at her directions as she left the apartment complex, making certain she knew how to get to St. Nick's. She didn't want to be late for her duty there, but knew she never wanted to arrive either. What a perfect day to be serving time.
As she drove, fog smudged the windows and it would take yet another ten minutes to decide whether or not she was too warm or too cold.
"This sucks," she couldn't help muttering aloud. No one could hear her.
It was on dreary, depressing mornings like this that her old memories of him surfaced reminding her of what could have been good about all of it. She loathed these positive, heart-warming feelings because they were false. He doesn't love her. He likely never could.
And just as she was about to drift into an early morning melancholy, a message appeared in her phone - it was from Noodle.
"You - Me. Dinner. Tomorrow. Say 6 pm? My place. Emoticon Smile"
And though she was not in the mood for a chuckle or much of a smirk, a playful grin curved her face and she realized she could actually look forward to it. Noodle struck her as a sincere, personable guy. And she was craving conversation outside the ordinary - a handful of words to take her mind away from the hell pressing on her brain. The hell she had an obligation to deal with - the box, Mrs. Weedgrass, the frayed edges of an old story.
As she pulled into the drive of St. Nick's, a cliche song came on the radio, reminding her of her new goal.
"It's true," she couldn't help saying to herself, "It is too late to apologize."
And with that, she confirmed with Noodle, grabbed her purse, and prepared for her day at the loony bin.
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