out of view (conclusion)

If he could change anything, it would be to have someone to share his thoughts with. “That doesn’t make me weak,” he whispered out loud, almost afraid someone or something could hear him and judge him. He stood naked in the center of his warehouse studio condo. He purchased it for a steal in 2009. He bought it specifically because it faced a brick wall and had a private entrance. “The owner is very eager to negotiate price since this unit does not have a view and is in the middle of renovations.” said the anxious realtor, when she showed him the listing. The unfinished renovations was a bonus to him but he didn’t let on. He loved the feel of the antique wide plank flooring under his bare feet. The realtor said the boards were salvaged from a church built in 1841. He felt that was a sign. A sign he had god’s blessing. His exposed brick walls were covered with large abstract, canvassed art. He had just purchased a new piece. His sixth. This one was very special. He walked over to it; traced his well manicured index finger over the edges. He lifted the painting gently off of the hooks and turned it over. There was a hidden canvas behind the painting. Blank. White. Waiting for his touch. She was special. She was important. She would be missed. He spent months learning her schedule, her habits. She would be predictable. They were all predictable. They all felt sorry for him; wanted to do their good deed for the day, not knowing it would be their last. He leaned the canvas against the wall on the floor. He lost track of time. He had to hurry if he wanted her to see him before she got to work. He grabbed his track pants off of his mattress and put them on. He threw on a heavy white cotton tee. His cross trainers and baseball cap were on the wheelchair seat, along with his black, leather gloves. They were a size too big but they were on sale, so he bought them. When he finished dressing, he sat in the wheelchair. Admired his reflection in the low hanging mirror by the front door. He especially relished his grim reaper tattoo on the side of his neck. He got it a year ago after purchasing his fifth piece of art. He struggled with it being a bit cliche but in the end, he felt it gave him more purpose, more resolve. He closed the door behind him and rolled onto the city street. It was early but it was humid with no breeze. His clothes were starting to stick to him. He had planned seeing her while she entered her office building but as fate had it, running late was a blessing; a sign his path was true. The light turned red and there she sat. In her precious silver Mercedes. He knew every wisp of her Clairol Born Blonde dyed hair; every crease of her salon tanned skin. These were the moments that truly aroused him. Having her see him in her world, before her world became his world. He rolled slowly in front of her car. He slowly turned his head to look in her direction. He wanted her to see his tattoo. “We will be visiting you soon, Toni.” he thought as he rolled out of view.