by Lawrence Zielinski

His left leg jerked and he awoke with a jolt, suddenly finding himself sitting up in his bed, not completely realizing where he was. After several seconds of mild bewilderment he felt the cold. He quickly turned his body to the side of the bed and allowed his feet to touch the floor. They recoiled above the cold, newly varnished wood. He came fully to his senses then, as if his feet were the memory of all he was doing lately, and fully awake now he knew that the furnace had stopped. Again.

He got up from the bed, slowly, deliberately, dreading the journey downstairs into the recesses of the old house he had recently purchased. The wires would have to be sanded again he thought, as he slowly reached in the dark for his robe. It was at the foot of the bed, somewhere. He found it, after some little while of roaming his hand back and forth across the end of the queen-sized mattress. He put it on and walked out into the hall. He guided his movement by his hand on the wall, searching for the light switch. After many seconds of up and down and sideways motions where he thought the switch was, the hall light came on. The thermostat was near the center of the wall near the switch. He peered at it quickly. "Fifty," he said out loud. "It doesn't go any lower. How long has that thing been off?' He went into the kitchen towards the stairs that lead into the basement when the doorbell rang. He turned on the kitchen light and looked at the large clock in the dining area. It was twelve thirty. He was a little agitated that someone was visiting him. Sometimes friends came over this late but never during the weekdays. He quickly opened the door, at the same time turning on the porch light.

She was wearing a full-length black leather coat, unbuttoned. She was breathing hard. She must have run from her car to the porch. He could see her red Mustang across the street. Her chest was rising and falling with each hurried breath. Her hair was a different color, he noticed. Auburn. It was several colors when he was with her but never auburn. She was jumping up and down, trying to stay warm.

"Are you going to invite me in or let me freeze out here?" she asked loudly, smiling.

"Oh, excuse me," he said. "Come on in. I wasn't expecting any company. Especially you. What are you doing here anyway?" He blurted this out and immediately regretted saying it.

"What kind of greeting is that?" she asked. "I make a special trip over here. I go out of my way to see you and you want to know what I'm doing here? I thought you'd be glad to see me. I certainly wanted to see you. I wouldn't have driven out of my way to come here if I didn't." She took off her coat while saying these things and threw it on the couch as she moved into the front room.

He stared at her as she looked about the room.

"What are you looking at?" she said, not really asking though.

"Are your eyes bluer?" he said. "I don't remember them bring that blue."

"I don't remember you ever commenting about my eyes before, Keith. I'm surprised you even know what color they are. But, bluer? How the hell could they be bluer?"

"What kind of a smart ass crack is that, Jesse? We used to live together, remember? That is, until you kicked me out." And he regretted saying that too. He didn't want her to leave.

"I didn't come here to fight with you," she said quietly. "I came to say hi, to see how you've been. It's been over a year since we've seen each other or even talked on the phone. And since you never tried, I figured I'd take the initiative."

That wasn't true but he didn't say anything. He hadn't seen her since she asked him to move out, eleven months by then, and he had called her after that, several times, but then, he never left a message either. He e-mailed once and she didn't reply.

She placed her arms around herself. "Damn it Keith," she said. "It's freezing in here. Give me my coat back."

He explained that the furnace was as old as the house, as he helped her with her leather. "Stay here while I go downstairs and fix the problem. I'll get you a drink first, something warm? Drambuie?"

"Can't I go with you? she asked. "I'd rather not be left all alone."

"Sure," he kind of drawled out," but watch where you walk. There's a lot of junk down there."

"This is really something," she remarked after she was downstairs," all this wood down here. What are you doing? Building a house within a house?"

"Give me break, Jesse," he said, cutting her off. I'm fixing the whole place, or trying to, if I don't freeze first that is."

"Why don't you just hire someone to fix everything? Better yet, buy a place that isn't a wreck?"

"‘Cause my lottery number didn't come in yet. Besides, you know that old saying, the one about climbing a mountain because it's there. I think Mallory said that when he was asked why he wanted to climb Mt. Everest. Well, this is my mountain. Silly, huh?"

She didn't respond.

He knelt next to the furnace and proceeded with the ritual of, per instructions given him by a friend, removing the protective cover, then disconnecting two specific wires and lightly sanding them with the light grade sand paper he kept on the furnace. He then reconnected the wires after he satisfied himself that they were sufficiently cleaned of dust and oxidation. He then stood up and waited for the furnace to kick in. It didn't.

"I guess I'll have to keep us warm," he heard her say.

He turned around but he didn't see her. "Where the hell are you? What are you doing?" he asked, impatiently. "You're nuts," he muttered.

She was leaning against the furnace, arms around herself, swaying her hips from side to side.

He quickly embraced her and kissed her. He heard the furnace start up. "Hold on there, big fella," she said. What are you doing? That wasn't an invitation."

He stopped kissing her, stopped holding her. That was something she would do.

They went back upstairs. He asked her if she wanted a drink.

"No, I don't think so," she responded. I have to get up early. I'm working now.

He didn't ask her about her job.

"Well then, drive carefully," was all he could think to say. He wanted to say more. He didn't want her to leave. But he knew that it was over.

"I will and you do the same," she answered.

That was an odd reply, he thought.

He watched her drive away, and then he closed the door and turned off the porch light. He went into the bedroom, quickly took off his robe and tossed it on the floor. He got into bed, pulled the thick quilt up to his neck and listened to the dull roar of the furnace.

Lawrence Zielinski lives in Clinton Twp., MI. He has been writing, not very prolifically, for years. He has had several stories published, mostly in family oriented and parochial magazines.