The Yellow Jacket

The day was grey, clouds hanging low over the damp and leafless trees. His apartment was cool; the heat wasn't working again. The white walls reflected the light from the outside. Eerie afternoon shadows were cast across his apartment. His clothes were strewn all over his bedroom floor, he didn't need to keep up appearances for anyone. White sheets on his bed that hadn't been washed for weeks were now dull with sweat. Empty coffee mugs were present in every room, almost as present as the sticky brown marks they left behind. His black cat scampered around the mess, trying to figure out if the pizza crust hidden in between the knit socks was its food. He sat in his kitchen window and lit up a cigarette. The smoke curled out the crack he lifted in the window frame.
         What a fucking dreary day.
         He grew goosebumps on his pale arms, the only thing that covered him was a white under-shirt and black boxers. He saw no point in getting dressed. There was no one to see. No one who cared enough, and no one he cared enough about. His cat circled his legs, having decided the pizza crust wasn't sufficient. He stamped out his cigarette and fed the cat the last of its food. He'd have to go out to buy more. The only sounds he heard were the light rain fall and the crunch of the dry food in the cat's mouth.
         He didn't bother taking a shower. It was raining. The outside world would just have to deal with his unkempt hair. He checked his computer as he was getting dressed. No emails. No notifications. He didn't even bother putting his cell phone in his pocket. He threw on an extra sweater. In his world there were no winter jackets. He patted his cat on the head, then left his place.
         The hallway was lit with artificial light, whitewashing the yellowing paint and the dark-wood trims. He could hear his neighbors muffled voices and their TVs; the commentator's yelling out a great play in a game, or an overdramatic actress crying over an infidelity. He didn't know any of his neighbors. He didn't see the point. They didn't know him, aside from holding the elevator for them. He took the stairs that day. He knew no one would be on them. No awkward smiles.
         As he stepped out onto the stoop the wet chill went straight through his extra sweater to his skin, giving him goosebumps again. He rubbed his white hands together and blew into their pit, the steam of his breath rose in the air. Besides the occasional car, there was no one on the streets. Not in this weather. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't have been out there if it wasn't for his cat.
         He hoped the rain would wash away the last of the snow piles on the bluffs and sidewalks, but he knew that there were still a few more weeks left of winter. He even thought he caught a glimpse of snow falling in the rain drops. As he turned the corner to the convenience store, he stepped in a puddle, soaking his left foot right down to the bone.
         Shit. That was my last clean sock.
         The Arabic man sitting behind the counter didn't look up when he entered the store. No one really ever looked up. It's not that he was unattractive, he was just unimpressive, and impossible to please. His left foot made a swishing sound that resonated through the silent store. Even though he knew exactly where the pet food was, he did a circle of its perimeter. For one, he wanted to get as much of the water out of his shoe as he could, for another, he liked the way it sounded. He grabbed the yellow bag of tuna fish-flavored cat food and made his way to the counter. He couldn't keep his cat waiting any longer. He pointed up to the cigarettes, and without words the man grabbed his favorite kind. Without words his rang in the two items and placed them in a plastic bag. Without words they exchanged money. He nodded his head towards the Arabic man as he left, but he wasn't looking. No one ever did.
         He stepped out of the store and was struck once again by the chill. He looked down the street and saw a young woman in a yellow rain jacket. It clashed horribly with her blonde hair and red lipstick, but she looked beautiful any ways. She raised her arm in an energetic way, waving in his direction. He didn't know what to do. No one had wanted his attention so badly before. She smiled broadly and kept waving, her white teeth flashing against the deep red of her lips. The rain made her hair damp and limp on her head, but her expression said that she didn't care. He halfway raised his arm and awkwardly shot it back down to his side. For some reason he felt himself caring about the girl, there was something about her that made him crave for more. He tried to smile but it looked more like he just smelt something odd. She lowered her arm and shook her head, still smiling. She began to run towards him, up the hill and up the street. She stepped into a puddle, water spilling into her red heels, but she just kept going. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, the greasiness mocking his fingertips. She was getting closer.
         Fuck, what do I say?
         His stomach turned into knots. He excluded himself from women for so long, figuring searching for the right girl was a hopeless cause. He was at a loss for something witty and entrancing to say. What could he say to a woman who appeared so imperfectly perfect for him?
         She ran past him into the arms of another man standing just behind him. She kissed the other man, rain streaming down their faces. He felt a strange sensation in his stomach. It wasn't embarrassment, he was too old for that. It was a yearning for the yellow coat woman, and a longing for something else at the same time. He walked past them up the street, hearing her say:
         "What a day, huh?"
         She laughed again.
         When he reached his apartment, his cat was waiting for him at the door. It sniffed the bag, then circled his feet again.
         You're going to be one fat cat.
         He filled its bowl with food and lit up a cigarette. It was getting darker. The shadows were longer. He thought about turning on a light. He checked his phone. No messages. He checked his computer. No emails. No notifications. He went back to the window with his cigarette. In the distance he thought he could see a yellow jacket.