The Absence of Purity

Silhouetted by the rays of a dying moon the house stood cold, silent, and uninviting. Standing in the thin layer of snow which blanketed the ground, his rigid posture mimicked the coldness of the structure. As time slipped past, his lack of motion sent the beginings of numbness into the bottom of his feet. Still he remained immobile. His mind played out different scenarios, all of which he finally concluded, would leave signs of his presence. After all the planning, the hours of waiting, and the mental exhaustion, tell-tale signs were not acceptable. Someone on the second floor flicked a light switch. Through the blindless window he saw the movement and it mesmerized him. Tall and graceful, like a ballerina the naked figure made its way across the room, through the door and, turning on the necessary switches to light the way, into the hall. He knew the route. He had walked it hundreds of times in his mind. He knew the location of every switch, every discarded piece of clothing that would be navigated around, and every squeak of the flooring. Soon downstairs lights would be illuminating the interior, the power of their brightness casting shadows on the immediate outside vicinity. A less organized individual would have retreated in fear of detection. His courage was in the knowledge that from his vantage point he was invisible. Daylight was more than two hours away and his confidence kept him glued to his postion. Two hours could be a lifetime. Two hours could be the begining of something truly wonderful. It could also be an end. Watching the activity inside the house birthed images in his brain and the familiarity of past actions shrouded him in an unrepentant arousal. All the memories of the past were inleashed and for a moment he shuddered with his thoughts. Another time, he told himself. Another night when circumstances were perfect, he would return and then the pictures he envisioned could, and would become reality. Slowly, forcing his stiff limbs to move, he stepped backwards, not wanting to lose sight of the house. Finally he turned. Breathing heavily he walked with his head down, his eyes focused on the ground. He had parked two miles from his hiding point and when he arrived he started the engine and turned the heat to full. Lighting a cigarette he noticed his hands shaking. After the times before they had shaken violently and he took it as a positive omen. Finished with the cigarette he held it between his thumb and forefinger out the window, rolling it back and forth, knocking the ash to the ground. What was left of the butt he placed in his jacket pocket. Placing the car in drive he eased his way onto the road, slowly increasing his speed. Ten minutes later he turned on the headlights and manuvered the vehicle onto the highway. At that time of the morning traffic was sparse and it afforded him time to replay the past hours in his mind. Parking in his driveway while the sky was still awakening to a new dawn he exited the vehicle and moved quietly up the steps of the porch and into the foyer. The house was silent. Stripping off his footwear and jacket, he walked in stocking feet to the mudroom where he stripped his clothing and tossed them into the washing machine. From the mudroom he made his way through the house, up the stairs and into the bedroom. In the dimness of the predawn light he could make out the form sleeping under the blankets. Gently he pulled back the bed linens and stretched out beside her. Within minutes he was asleep.