What a job, night custodian. In there all alone, night after night. And especially this school. Out here in the country, no one around. Maybe he likes it, though, enjoys the solitude. He can clean the school at the pace he wants. He can just do his job. There’s no one to tell him how or when to do it. As long as he gets it done. That’s the way to work. He’s developed a routine over all these years and can do it without even thinking. Even if there were people around, no one would notice the custodian.

It’s a job I can appreciate. Not the cleaning and sweeping. But being alone, the solitude. He has to be up all night, but he doesn’t have to deal with any of the students, doesn’t have to see how careless they are, how messy, sloppy, and dirty. But he knows better than anyone because he has to deal with the fallout. No one else does.

If I could work alone, I think I’d prefer it. I’m almost certain I would. No small talk, no upcoming plans to discuss. No one leaning over your desk to ask questions. You just do your work. If I could work mostly alone, and was still living alone, things would be easier. Everything would be a little more natural.

Regardless, alone in there all night, especially in such a big school. It is a creepy job. I look back at the school, dark and quiet, like inside the car.

The only book Jake has given me, and he gave it to me about a week after we met, is called The Loser. It’s by this German author, somebody Bernhard. He’s dead now, and I didn’t know about the book until Jake gave it to me. Jake wrote “Another sad story” on the inside cover.

The entire book is a single-paragraph monologue. Jake underlined one section. “To exist means nothing other than we despair . . . for we don’t exist, we get existed.” I kept thinking about what that meant after I read it. Another sad story.

I hear an abrupt metallic clang from somewhere to my right, from the school. It startles me. I turn toward the sound. Nothing but the swirling snow. No sign of movement or light, beyond the yellow flood. I wait for another sound but it doesn’t come.

Was there movement at the window? I can’t tell. I definitely heard something. I’m sure I did.

The snow is everywhere. It’s hard to see the road we came in on. It’s only about fifty yards or so away. It’s frigid in here. I instinctively put my hand up in front of the vent. Jake turned the car off. Took the keys with him. He did it without thinking.

Another loud clang. And another. My heart skips ahead, beating faster, heavier. I turn and look out my window again. I don’t want to look anymore. I don’t like this. I want to go. I really want to go now. I want this to end. Where is Jake? What’s he doing? How long has he been gone? Where are we?

I am someone who spends a lot of time alone. I cherish my solitude. Jake thinks I spend too much time alone. He might be right. But I don’t want to be alone now. Not here. Like Jake and I were talking about on the drive, context is everything.

There is a fourth bang. It’s the loudest yet. It’s definitely coming from inside the school. This is stupid. It’s Jake who has to work in the morning, not me. I can sleep in. Why did I agree to this? I shouldn’t have come with him. I should have ended things long ago. How did I end up here? I shouldn’t have agreed to visit his parents, to visit the house he grew up in. That wasn’t fair. But I was curious. I should be home, reading, or sleeping. It wasn’t the right time. I should be in bed. I knew Jake and I weren’t going to last. I did. I knew from the beginning. Now I’m sitting in this stupid, freezing car. I open my door. More cold rushes in.

“JAAAAAAAKE!”

No answer. How long has it been? Ten minutes? Longer? Shouldn’t he be back by now? It happened so fast. He was obsessed with confronting that man. Does that mean talking to him, or yelling or fighting or . . . ? What’s the point?

It is almost like Jake is upset about something else, something I’m not aware of. Maybe I should go in and look for him. I can’t wait here in the car forever. He told me to stay here. It was the last thing he said.

I don’t care if he’s mad. He shouldn’t have left me out here all alone. In the dark. In the cold. Thinking of ending things. It’s crazy. We’re in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere. This is really unfair and shitty. How long am I supposed to sit here?

But what else can I do? I don’t have many other options. I have to stay. There’s nowhere to walk to from here. It’s too cold and dark, anyway. There’s no way to call someone, because my stupid phone is dead. I have to wait. But I don’t want to just sit here in the cold. It’ll just keep getting colder. I have to find him.

I turn around and run my hand along the floor behind the driver’s seat. I’m trying to find Jake’s wool hat. I saw him put it there when we first got into the car. I feel it. It’ll be a bit big for me, but I’ll need it. I put it on. It’s not too big. It fits better than expected.

I open the car door, swing my legs out, and stand up. I shut the door without slamming it.

I move slowly toward the school. I’m shivering. All I can hear are my feet on the pavement, crunching snow. It’s a dark night. Dark. It must always be dark out here. My breath is visible but evaporates around me. The snow is falling on an angle with the wind. For a few seconds, a moment, I’m not sure how long, I look up at the sky, all the stars. It’s unusual that I can see so many stars. I would have assumed the storm would bring clouds. Stars. Everywhere.

I get up to the school window and peer in. I visor my eyes with my hands. There are blinds, from floor to ceiling. I can’t see anyone through the cracks. It looks like a library or an office. There are bookshelves. I knock on the cold glass. I look back at the car. I’m about thirty feet from it. I knock again, harder this time.

I see the green garbage can. I walk over to it and remove the lid. Jake was right. It’s half full of beige salt. I replace the lid. It doesn’t fit. It’s dented and warped. I can’t go sit in that car again. I have to go look for Jake. I walk toward the side of the school where Jake went. I can still make out his steps, barely.

I was expecting to find a play structure out here. But this is a high school; they wouldn’t have one. I turn the corner, following Jake’s path. I begged him to stay in the car with me. We don’t have to be here.

I see two green Dumpsters up ahead, and beyond them, more darkness, fields. Those must be the Dumpsters where he got rid of the cups. Where is he?

“Jake!” I call, walking toward the Dumpsters. I’m feeling uneasy, skittish. I don’t love it here. I don’t like being here alone. “What are you doing? Jake? JAAAKE?”

I can’t hear anything. The wind. On my left is a basketball court. There’s no mesh or chain on the bent rims. I see soccer goalposts ahead in the field. There is no netting on them. Rusty soccer posts at either end of the field.

Why did we stop here? Did I really need confirmation to end things? I’m going to be single for a long time, probably forever, and I’m fine with that. I am. I’m happy on my own. Lonely, but content. Being alone isn’t the worst thing. It’s okay to be lonely. I can deal with loneliness. We can’t have everything. I can’t have everything.

I see a door ahead, just beyond the Dumpsters. Jake must be in the school.

The wind is worse behind the school. It’s like a wind tunnel. I have to hold the top of my jacket together. I walk steadily, head down, toward the windows by the door.

We weren’t going to last. I knew it. I did. He was excited about this trip under the perception of our advancing relationship. He wouldn’t have wanted me at his parents’ place had he known everything I was thinking. It’s so rare for others to know everything we’re thinking. Even those we’re closest to, or seemingly closest to. Maybe it’s impossible. Maybe even in the longest, closest, most successful marriages, the one partner doesn’t always know what the other is thinking. We’re never inside someone else’s head. We can never really know someone else’s thoughts. And it’s thoughts that count. Thought is reality. Actions can be faked.

I get up to the windows and look in. A long hall. I can’t see all the way to the end. It’s dark. I knock on the glass. I want to yell but know it won’t do anything.

Something moves at the far end of the hall. Is it Jake? I don’t think it is. Jake was right. Someone. Someone’s in there.

I duck down, away from the window. My heart almost explodes. I peer back in. I can’t hear anything. There is someone! It’s a man.

A very tall figure. There’s something dangling from his arm. He’s facing this way. He’s not moving. I don’t think he can see me. Not from so far away. Why isn’t he moving? What’s he doing? He’s just standing there. Motionless.

It’s a broom or mop that he’s holding. I want to stare but am suddenly too scared. I pull my head back to the brick wall. I don’t want him to see me. I close my eyes and cover my mouth with my hand. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t. I’m breathing through my nostrils, sucking air in and pushing it out forcefully, anxiously.