Band On The Run

Courage (For Hugh MacLennan)

By the time the cab had dropped me off in front of the apartment building, the sun had fully risen.

The weak sunlight was fluttering in between the buildings as I slung my bag over my shoulder, stepping into the street. It was still early enough that there was no one on the sidewalk, just a random car looking reluctant to be out on a Sunday morning.

As I shut the door to the car, the cabbie rolled down his window next to me. He was frowning up at me, concern written clearly on his face. It wasn't an expression I was used to seeing, especially not from the cab drivers first thing on a weekend morning, usually they sped away without a glance. It was only in the face of his concern that I took stock of myself, clueing into the fact my hands were trembling and my skin felt clammy.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asked.

The endearment might've rubbed me the wrong way any other day, but this morning I just looked tiredly back at him. "No," I answered, seeing no point in a lie.

He nodded in the face of my blunt honesty. With nothing more to add, he said kindly, "I'll wait to make sure you get in okay."

Usually I would've argued, told him I would be fine, but I didn't have it in me right then. In fact, I felt so tired that my limbs were heavy, as if they would drag me down into the concrete. So, I only said, "Thank you."

It took me a moment to get inside, my hand fumbling around, feeling too weak to even grasp the door handle. And to my surprise when I pulled open the door and glanced over my shoulder, the cab was still patiently parked on the curb. A tense ball tightened in my throat at the sight. I raised my hand, a brief wave and only then did the car pull back onto the street, letting me step into the apartment building.

I was lucky enough to get an empty lift up, and I slumped back against the wall. Tucking my arms around myself, I tried to stop the way my hands couldn't keep from shaking by pressing them between my upper arms and my ribcage.

The trembling hadn't stopped with movement, and by the time I'd found the door I'd been looking for, my entire body was quivering. Despite it, I managed to tighten my hand into a fist and knock on the door. I could feel a tickle along my spine, as if someone was watching me, daring me to look over my shoulder. But there was no one there, only another familiar door, and I couldn't bring myself to look. Instead, I hit the door a harder.

There was no answer, so I just kept knocking.

When no answer came worry began to rise inside of me. What if they were sleeping through this? Or, worse, what if they weren't home at all? It would be typical of me, rushing over here without a word to think they'd just happen to be here when I needed. Anything to not go back to that empty apartment waiting with the guilt guarantee.

All those thoughts whirling through my head had my hand absolutely pounding on the door. No one in this apartment building was going to be able to sleep if I had anything to say about it.

Just as the thought was running through my mind, the door swung open and my fisted hand fell through the air as if I'd missed throwing a punch. Toby was framed perfectly in the door. His fair hair all mused, nothing like his usual neat quiff, wearing a pair of red flannel boxers even as he was tugging a cream robe over his shoulders, half covering his bare chest.

His eyes narrowed on me immediately, and without pause exclaimed in the loudest whisper, "What the fuck, Keely?"

We stared at each other for just a short second, but it felt like a lifetime.

Then, to Toby's abject horror, my eyes began to fill with tears.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he moaned, hand dropping from the door handle as he took an unsure step towards me.