"Satellite Call" Sara Bareilles

Would it really be the last time he shut that door behind him, quietly.  No inserting of the key.  No turning of the deadbolt.  The noisy price of assuring security for those he left behind was too much to incur.  The grinding of metal against the door, the friction that would shake the still air.  Instead it was the steady tension of rubberized weatherproofing against the lightweight alloy of the doorframe.  The sound of a closed space being vacuumed sealed.

And with this gesture, at this moment, in the sobering coldness of late February, he walked away.  The ensuing moments, the careful opening and shutting of a car door.  The sliding of gears into neutral and of the gravity-assisted slide of the car into the street, all happened without  a problem.  Problems would appear hours later, but at this moment, in the sobering coldness of late February, all he imagined was a turning of the page.  Something about the start of a new chapter, as his mother used to say.