Tilting at Windmills by Joseph Pittman Read Free Book Online Page A

air cleared my mind after hours in the stuffy, dank bar. There were places that had nights like this all the time, where you could actually see the sky and the stars.
    Thoughts kept creeping into my mind. One in particular—John’s theory about how I always run from my problems rather than face up to them. Had I once? And was I doing it now? Was it really my place to talk with Maddie, to confront her with her betrayal? Or was it hers, to realize her mistake and come running to me? Nothing was making sense, and I wondered if maybe I were drunk on bar fumes. I tried to push these troubling, doubting thoughts away—and found I couldn’t. They were firmly lodged now in my brain: Brian Duncan just running away.
     
    B efore long, a week had passed and I was ready for the next brave step. I packed, put things in storage, notified family and friends, and finalized all the necessary details. Putting your life on hold while you go off to find yourself is no easy task. I was up for it, though, enjoying the physical challenge while suppressing the cerebral. There would be time for mind games later.
    Before I knew it, Friday morning arrived. D day. Departure day.
    I awoke for the last time in my apartment, and for that single moment everything felt normal. As though I were going to work, making weekend plans with Maddie, and generally going about the routine I’d conditioned myself for these past thirteen years. But the two suitcases near the closet stood as reminders that nothing was the same, nothing would be as it was. The job was gone, so was a certain woman, and come tomorrow, so was the apartment.
    I had only a few second thoughts. I was leaving the comfort I’d known, intent now on my trek into the vast unknown. Fear didn’t begin to describe what I was feeling as a heaviness settled into my chest like a bad case of heartburn and nausea nestled in the pit of my stomach. Emotions I hadn’t felt in years toyed with my system, and as a result, my blood was on fire and my body was alive.
    Thirty minutes passed while I made my final preparations, that one last sweep of the apartment to make sure I’d taken everything I wanted from my previous life, any objects that might ease the solitude that would be my constant companion on the road. There was one particular item in my desk drawer that, at the last minute, I took out and slipped into my jacket pocket. I thought fleetingly of Maddie, wondered if I’d hear from her, then dismissed it. My attention was drawn to the window, where I saw people on the streets rushing to work, dressed in suits and carrying briefcases. In jeans and a turtleneck, wearing sneakers and a brown leather jacket, I was dressed for the future.
    I grabbed the two suitcases, and with my heart suddenly full of an odd mixture of sadness and joy, I closed the door behind me, listening for that final turn of the lock. Its click lingered in my mind as I went down the stairs. Once out in the cool morning air, I realized I’d been holding my breath and so I let it out. A cold breeze washed over and invigorated me. Winter, it was clear, was still hovering, but spring was coming. Hope springs eternal indeed.
    My car was parked in the garage across the street, so it was a quick, no-nonsense walk with my heavy load. I’d packed only clothes, figuring any mementos would only bog me down with weight both physical and emotional. Besides, you don’t have to pack memories. They never leave you.
    Some even meet you head-on.
    A surprise guest was waiting for me in the garage. She was sitting on the trunk of my black Grand Am, her feet resting on its fender. In her hands I saw a tissue, which she used to dab at the corner of her eyes. She was dressed in an attractive package of denim and lace.
    “Is Justin allowing casual-dress Fridays?”
    Maddie said, “This doesn’t strike me as a moment for flippancy.”
    “This isn’t much of a moment for anything,” I replied, standing before the car with the suitcases still in