Jefferson Causley had blown out of town like frost on a fallen fall leaf taken along for the ride. So today sitting staring at a large cup of coffee of grandiose nature some forty years later it came as a peculiarity to him that the life he had led until today suddenly was nothing more than mere drizzle on a greyhound bus window slipping away in a fog. His thoughts cemented in focus and unwavering on that one leap of faith he had taken all those years ago. The day he left town; unannounced, unwanted and unnoticed. He had departed without any hold him downs. No special sweetheart. No family longingly looking out of windows of a cherished homestead lamenting his departure. Had he died at almost anytime since; say in combat or murdered in a bus station. Had he been discovered in an unmarked grave alongside the road there would have been no window for a gold star, no doorstep to read a telegram upon or dentist knowledgeable enough to compare dental records to. Let alone a person’s memory to jog regarding the boy who used to live behind the library on Oak Street. So hours later when he found himself getting off of a bus in his long lost hometown the feeling of apprehension was not because of who might see and recognize him but of the fact he was sure no one would. He had read once you can never go home again, but the fact he had no home to go back to made him feel that anywhere he wanted to go would be a new place; ever never home again. Beginnings and endings are hopelessly tied together with middles. Little middles make for closer relationships to the past; longer ones of course do not.