House Sitter — Short Story
Hello dear friend!
Thank you SO MUCH for looking after our place while we're away!!!
Our flight is at 10am on Monday morning so hopefully we'll see you that morning. We'll go over everything with you before we leave but, just in case, here's a handy reminder of everything you need to know.
- Garbage day is Wednesday. Compost is every other week. Don't put the bins out before 9pm or the city will get mad!
- Cleaning supplies for the bathroom are under the sink. Cleaning supplies for the kitchen are under that sink too. Come to think of it pretty much everything is under the sink :)
- Laundry is in the basement, go nuts. The dryer is pretty old and gets really hot so we don't put things on top when it's running. Be careful! It'll be too hot to touch for a bit after a cycle.
- Please water the garden everyday, unless it rained the day before. If the leaves are crispy, they need water; if they're droopy, they don't!
And now for the main event: Bella! Bella is a sweet kitty who loves you, she just may not know it yet. She'll probably hide in the basement for the first few days but feed her and give her scritches and she'll warm right up to you!!
We feed Bella one scoop of dry in the morning and another at dinnertime (We eat at 7) along with an ⅛ of a can of wet food. Her water dish is in the TV room--apparently cats don't like having their water and food next to each other. Who knew? Make sure you put the leftover wet food in the fridge and replenish her water every day.
Bella loves her toys, they're up on top of the bookcase. She's also CRAZY for boxes and paper bags. Her favourite thing is to curl up with us while we're watching TV and get brushed. Her brush is with her food in the kitchen.
We let her out whenever she wants until dinnertime, when she stays in until we go to bed. DON'T LET HER OUT BETWEEN 7 AND MIDNIGHT! We've had problems before. Don't ask :)
She'll meow to be let in VERY EARLY in the morning, have a snack, then go right back out. This is annoying but normal :) Her litter box is downstairs, clean it out weekly or just keep an eye on it. It's not as bad as you'd think it is.
That's pretty much it! EAT EVERYTHING! Explore the hood! Please do a big clean before we get home please please please! We had a guest last year who was a disaster! Don't be like Erin LOL!
We're back at 5pm on the 31st! We'll text you when we land. Email us any hot Qs!
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
WE LOVE YOU!!!!!!
B&P
***
Hi
Hi. How are you feeling?
Okay. I was sad all weekend but I'm ok now.
Good. Did you see anyone?
Yeah, Kate on Friday and I stayed with my sister all weekend.
That's good
I'm sorry you were sad
Thanks.
I'm sorry too.
Thanks
Are you at home?
No I'm at Bonnie & Pete's.
I'm house sitting for them while they're
out of the country
Where did they go?
Morocco
Cool!
They're so cool
Yeah
I love you
I know.
***
I put my phone down, face down, and try to focus on the TV. Stalker. Tarkovsky was probably not the best choice for where my head is at right now but maybe wallowing in nuclear oblivion is exactly where I should be. I get the impulse to pick up my phone again, to see if she's written anything else or to write something or just to look at the message chain again. Instead, I push the phone further away, to another couch cushion entirely. With the phone face down I won't see it light up, but it also means I can see the case she got me. I look back to the TV and try to ignore the glossy plastic case with the picture of our beach. Then I grab my phone and stuff it behind a pillow where I can't see it at all.
The house is still and quiet--as quiet as a house in the middle of the city can be. Cars and buses blast by on the busy road steps from the front door, rattling the windows and pots every few minutes. The house is too hot but I can't figure out where the thermostat is. Bonnie and Pete didn't show me where it was before they left and there aren't any fans in the house. I might go buy one tomorrow, but it seems silly to buy something for a house I don't even live in. I do have a fan back at... the old place but I can't go back there right now. Maybe next week.
Jingle jingle jingle
From the basement stairs. Could it be?
Jingle jingle
Around the side of the door peaks a little grey face with big green eyes, hugged by a purple collar from which dangles a brass bell. Bella meows at me, a flat, tuneless sound that sounds like a footstep on a rickety stair.
Aeiooorw
"Well, hello." I say, smiling, and she meows again before turning to the kitchen.
I pause Tarkovsky and get up from the couch. I reach for my phone but leave it there, under the pillow with the cows on it, and consider this a great victory. Anything she has to say to me can wait. I follow Bella into the kitchen.
The cat is munching on her stockpile of dry food that has been sitting since her parents left yesterday morning. I didn't put out any wet for her last night since she wasn't coming upstairs. I didn't refresh the dry so as to not waste it. She doesn't seem to mind. Her little bell twinkles as she eats.
Cronch cronch cronch
Jingle jingle jingle
I watch her eat for a while, then stoop down so I'm crouched over her. I reach out, but hesitate, just like I did with my phone. Last time I went in for the pets it was a disaster. A hissing, swiping disaster. Her little head pops up to chew some more, her tiny little ears bouncing with each bite, and I can't resist any longer. I stroke the gunmetal grey fur between her shoulder blades, which tense up at the first touch but gradually soften as she succumbs to the dual pleasures of eats and pets. I up my game and scratch the top of her head, then really hit the gas and go for the ears. A big smile spreads across my face. Though neither of us say anything, I imagine we're both thinking the same thing:
Yesssssss
***
I'm back in our bed, looking sideways at her big green eyes rimmed in red. A tear pools up and I reach for it, but her hand comes up and swipes it away before I get there. She sniffles.
"It's okay." I say and she squeezes her eyes shut. "It's okay."
"I just can't anymore."
"I know. It's nobody's fault."
"I tried."
"I know. Look at me."
Her eyes come back to me, just like that first night they rose smokey and slow over the rim of her glass and I knew I was going home with her, only this time with all the promise and excitement drained away and replaced with pain and sadness. She sniffles again and starts to say something. She hesitates, looks away.
"What?" I ask.
She looks back, takes a deep breath, and opens her mouth:
Aeiooooooooorrrrrrwwwww
***
"Fuck."
I'm not in our bed. I'm in their bed, Bonnie & Pete's, sheets all tangled and pillows piled up around me like a wall. I look around, trying to ground myself. My heart is pounding.
Aeioooorw
Bella. The fucking cat. She must want to come in. 5:30am. The sun is already up. Guess it's as good a time as any. I get up and let her in. She gives me a quick "Hello" meow and trots over to her food bowl, jinglejinglejingling all the way.
"Hey stranger," I say and pet her while she's eating. No tension this time, we're cool now. I weigh going back to bed and remember my dream. As much as I want to climb back into that bed with her, the way it ended, with that long drawn-out Body Snatchers moan, keeps me up. I start to make coffee instead.
Aeioooorw
I look down at Bella, who is licking her chops and staring up at me with her swampwater eyes. Satisfied she has my attention, she heads for the back door and stares at the doorknob. I open the door and she jinglejingles back outside. While I'm waiting for the water to boil, leaning up against the counter, I hear another meow from outside. I open the back door and she's sitting there, looking right up at me again, only this time she's got a present for me.
A tiny, brown sparrow corpse lies splayed on its back between me and the cat. The little clawed feet are twisted in mortal agony and the feathers are ruffled slightly at the neck, but there's no blood or obvious signs of trauma. No "cause of death." Bella watches me expectedly.
"Oh," I say, "Uh, thanks." I feel the impulse to shake her little paw.
Bella seems to be satisfied and saunters off into the jungle of the backyard.
Jingle jingle jingle.
I go into the kitchen, turn off the boiling kettle, and get a compost bag out from under the sink. I wrap the bag around my hand like a glove and pick up the featherweight corpse, which is somehow even lighter and more delicate than I thought it would be, like holding a fistful of matchsticks. I carry it over to the compost bucket sat on the shelf on the back porch, not sure where else to put it, and feel a pump in my hand. I look down in time to see the bird spasm back to life, squeaking in terror, its mangled wings and ribbed earthworm feet lashing out wildly.
I gasp and drop the thing onto the concrete of the porch where it flaps pathetically, squealing like a tiny banshee. Frozen, not sure what to do, the brown compost bag still wrapped around my hand, I stomp down on the bird and too late realize:
I'm not wearing any shoes.
My bare foot covers the bird almost completely, only the very tip of its face peeks out between my toes. I feel several small, thin pops but the thing doesn't die. I put more weight on the foot and the feeling of soft feathers covering sharp, snapping bone sears itself into my memory. The bird lets out one last squeak, like air being pushed through a thin straw, and dies. I bring my foot up and suck in a lungful of air. I look away and the cat is sitting at the edge of the garden, framed by tall stalks of green, staring at me.
***
What do you do with an unsolicited bird carcass? Put it in the garbage? Seems like a waste. Bury it in the backyard? What am I? A Christian? More importantly, was the tiny little bird a Christian? What if I'm preventing it from ascending into the perpetual flight of Bird Heaven, where the skies are clear of predators and there are grubs everywhere? I already had a compost bag so I just picked the thing up, crunched little drinking straw bones and all, and put it in the compost bin. Bella watched me from the tall grass of the backyard. When the lid closed, she retreated into the thicket and I didn't see her again until dinnertime.
I killed the bird on Thursday so I had to wait a whole week until the next compost pickup. I was worried some other animal, like a stray cat or a raccoon or Bella herself, would try to get into the bin so I put it in the basement. I was afraid it would smell so I opened the basement window and put the bin on the windowsill. I thought I might have nightmares about the crunched little thing trapped in the beige-and-brown compost bin but I really didn't. Actually, I didn't think about it at all.
***
It seemed our shared experience of bridicide allowed Bella to see me as worthy, since she emerged from the jungle of the backyard at the end of that day and sat with me on the couch while I watched a movie. I strategically left my arm resting on the back of the couch so she would snuggle up next to me and, when she did, I casually let me drape my arm across her little warm body, with her too-fast heartbeat and short, animal breaths. Feeling that warmth under my hand, lying in repose before a flickering LCD, I tried to keep my memory from sliding back to holding my wife the same way, way back even before she was my wife but after we were strangers. The comfort of holding another living thing, soft and vulnerable and trusting, overwhelmed me and I started to cry. Bella didn't care other than a little shrug of annoyance with the tears wet her fur.
***
Hi.
Hey!
What's up?
Are you okay?
Yeah I'm fine.
Did you want to meet up this weekend?
Sure!
When were you thinking?
We could go to Gannet
I was thinking maybe something a bit
more neutral
Oh yeah
Just to avoid bad feelings
Yeah of course
Definitely
I'm free Friday
We never went to that place in Emeryville
Oh yeah! Okay let's do that
Great!
--
Why does she want to see me now? Has she decided it's been long enough? I was just starting to get used to not having her around, not texting her, I was almost able to get through a day without talking to her like she's right there, anticipating what she would say to what I was doing or explaining what I was working on. Why does she get to decide when it's time for a meeting? I should have said no. I shouldn't have responded at all. She's not my enemy but she's not my friend. I don't want to be her friend. She's more than that and she's also nothing. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? What does that even mean? I should have picked a place closer to B&Ps so she could come over later, if she wanted to, or closer to our old place so we could go home together where we belong. That's not going to happen. It could happen. I want it to happen. I want to be angry. I should be angry. I'm not. I'm really excited.
--
I didn't let Bella out last night because she was pissing me off and now she won't shut the fuck up and I just want to sleep so I can dream about whatever but she's meowing that fucking torn up banjo meow and it doesn't matter how many times I yell at her she won't shut up SHUT THE FUCK UP
--
The next morning after dreaming about drowning in an ice cold black ocean I woke up to the sound of Bella meowing at the front door. I got up and we went through our breakfast routine. While making coffee I realized I hadn't caved and let her out, I'd tossed her down the basement stairs and closed the door. How did she get out? I went investigating and found the basement window, still open, with the mesh screen popped out at the bottom right corner. The little bitch wriggled her way out. I had to admit that was pretty cool.
Bella was waiting for me at the backdoor, staring at the doorknob, her food dish empty. I opened it and let her out--she'd earned it. I went back to my coffee.
Aeiooorw
There she was, sitting on the mat, staring. Another bird carcass was at her feet. I chuckled. Cats gonna cat. I grabbed another compost bag and wrapped it around my hand like last time. I almost went straight out, then walked to the front door to put my shoes on. I also prodded the little corpse with my toe to make sure it wasn't going to Evil Dead on me again. When I bent down to pick it up, something caught my eye. Under the patio table was another dead bird. And another. And two more near the edge of the garden. Five in all. Bella had retreated to her observation spot, at the edge of the tangled thicket of the deep backyard, where she sat and watched me, passively. Five dead birds in one night? That must be some kind of record! Were they all in the same car or something?
"Damn, girl." I said.
--
The compost bin was now stuffed with bird corpses. I wrote "NO VACANCY" on a post-it note and stuck it to the side of the bin. The sight of the little yellow note made me giggle a little, then more, then a full-throated, braying laugh. I doubled over to rest my hand on the dryer, then fell back onto my ass, laughter peeling out of me in great, halting waves, tears pouring down my cheeks which burned with effort. The back of my neck, where my skull met my spine, started to ache from the laughter, and my cheeks hurt where I had been grinding them into the unfinished concrete floor of the basement. I clutched my belly with one hand and smacked the floor with the other, making the flesh of my palm red and raw. I tried to breathe through it, I tried to talk myself out of it with weak little "ok, ok"s, but nothing could stop me - I had tumbled over a waterfall of laughter. I tried to stand up and grabbed onto a small metal rod to pull myself up. The rod was holding up the little wooden shelf the compost bucket was sitting on, and the shelf crashed down onto me, the corner of the shelf splitting my nose with a blinding crash.
I fell back down clutching at my nose, blood pouring out from between my fingers, and screamed "FUCK" into the concrete floor. I sat back onto my butt to get the bleeding under control and saw I was now surrounded by the dead birds which had tumbled out of the bucket. Among them, a yellow post-it labelled "NO VACANCY."
***
In two nights I was to see my wife for the first time since she'd moved out and now I had a giant bandage across the bridge of my nose and two black eyes. I sure was going to look like a responsible, worthy husband now. I spent a lot of time staring at my ruined face in the mirror, surprised I could hate myself even more than I did before. Before the accident, I couldn't bear to look at myself at all, so I guess this was progress. My glasses had bent in the fall, too, and I had to wear my backup pair - big, black-framed Buddy Holly specs that magnified the purple bruises under my eyes.
I decided I wasn't in the mood to cook so I ordered a pizza and sat down on the couch to wait for it. The couch was littered with old chip bags and beer cans that I swept off onto the rainbow striped circular carpet. I felt a sting of regret at that, but I was in a bad mood and anyway I could clean it up later.
My phone rested heavy in my hand, unbuzzing and unlit. She hadn't texted again since we'd made plans to see each other. I thought often of texting her, little things I thought she'd find funny or interesting, but I had restrained myself - a victory. I forgot to turn the TV on and sat on the couch staring at the nexus of the rainbow carpet, watching the colours swirl and mix, thinking about her and me and being alone together.
A knock at the door. Startled, I looked out the window and saw it was noticeably darker. I must have really zoned out. To get to the front door, I had to kick aside empty pizza boxes and black garbage bags full to bursting. I opened the door just enough to peek my head out to greet the driver.
"Hey man," The delivery guy said, cheerful, as he bent down to take the pizza out of the big insulated bag
"Hi." I managed - couldn't this asshole see I didn't want to talk to anyone?
He handed me the box and he did a double-take.
"Oh, hey! I know you!" He beamed.
I knew him too, a friend of my wife's from school. Ricky, maybe?
"Ah, I don't think so, man," I said, retreating back inside.
Ricky put his hand on the door, preventing me from closing it. He leaned in, his breath smelled like raspberry vape juice.
"Yeah, I do, you're Claire's husband. I'm Rick, I went to school with Claire."
"Cool man, nice to see you," I tried, trying to get away, "Thanks for the pizza."
I tried to close the door again but he kept leaning in. I felt like I was being covered in a big heavy blanket and squashed down to the floor.
"Is this where you live now? Is she in there?" Before I could say no, before I could explain what my situation was, he drove his head even further into the doorway and shouted, "CLAIRE! It's RICK! What's uuuuuuuup?!"
Blood flashed behind my eyes. I dropped the pizza box and wrenched the door as far open as it would go. Ricky half-stumbled into the foyer and I shoved him hard in the chest, pushing him out onto the street.
"FUCK OFF!" I bellowed and slammed the door in his face.
Through the door, around the sound of pounding blood in my ears, I heard Ricky mutter, "Fuck man, I was just trying to be a friend."
I squeezed my eyes shut and made fists. I tried to breathe through it but the adrenaline was in control now and I couldn't, I just couldn't walk back into the house and eat my pizza like a loser. I spun around and ripped the door back open. Ricky, in his red and blue Domino's uniform, was walking back to his car, his back to me.
"Hey!" I called out, and he turned around.
He put his hands up, "Hey man, I didn't mean to-"
I shoved him again, as hard as I could, meaning to drop him on his ass, but he only stumbled back.
"What did you mean you were 'just trying to be a friend?'" I demanded.
"What?" He asked. He looked scared and that made me happy.
"What did you mean?!" I punctuated this with another shove and he backed off further.
"Nothing man," he said, confusion in his eyes, his keys dangling loosely from one hand. "I just haven't heard from her in a while."
"Bullshit." My breath was heaving, "You came here to laugh at me. You're going back to see her right now, aren't you?" What was I saying? "You're going to fuck her tonight, aren't you?!" I didn't believe this but I said it anyway.
"Okay man, whatever you say." Ricky was at his car now, the little plastic Domino's sign on the roof lit up white and blue in the dusk. "Have a good night."
"Get the fuck outta here." I kicked his front tire and spat red blood on his hood.
He backed out onto the road and drove off, fast. I stood on the sidewalk, raging, bewildered by my anger, and felt hot red wetness on my mouth. There was blood pouring out of my nose and onto the street.
***
I don't remember going back inside the house, or picking up the pizza box, or sitting on the couch. The first thing I remember is the sound of the cat's bell, jingle jingle jingle, announcing her arrival into the living room. I snapped out of whatever post-adrenal haze I was in and tried to remember what had happened. My fingers burned with the hot slice of pizza in my hand and I dropped it into the box where it steamed along with the rest of it. It was extremely hot, and I finally noticed my mouth was stinging all over - had I been eating this scalding hot pizza without noticing? I probed my mouth and found it sore and tinged with the taste of copper. I wiped my mouth and my hand came back bloody.
I went into the bathroom to clean up and found my face covered in red gore from my broken nose. I must have torn the scab somehow. When I came back to the living room, Bella was licking the blood off the pizza. I shooed her away and dumped the tainted half of the pizza in the garbage. I stood over the open garbage can and tried to get my breathing under control.
Deciding a little cat-based therapy was in order, I grabbed Bella's brush from the cabinet and brought it back with me into the living room. She sat on my lap and accepted the hard metal bristles gratefully as I scraped them against her cheeks. It creeped me out how the brush tugged at her but she seemed to love it. It made this SCRRRRIP sound with every brush.
Why had I flown off the handle like that? Ricky was always an idiot and I know Claire had had a crush on him in school, but she hadn't ever acted on it and never talked about him that way.
SCRRRRIP
And even if she had, what did I care? She was her own woman. I had never been jealous like that before.
SCRRRRIP
Still, he shouldn't have assumed Claire was in the house with me. It's no business of his. Didn't Dominos do any kind of professional respect training or anything? I shouldn't have pushed him but I was totally in my rights to get him away from my front door.
SCRRRRIP
Actually, he was being really aggressive at the front door - he tried to push his way in! I had no choice but to react the way I did. Maybe it wasn't the "right" thing to do but it was totally acceptable.
SCRRRRIP
And how was I to know he wouldn't come back? I needed to scare him off, show him he wasn't welcome, otherwise there's no telling what he could have done. Come back later with a bat, maybe. Or a knife.
SCRRRRIP
You never know with people. I should call his store, is what I should do. Tell his manager about him. Warn them that he could be dangerous. I heard some fucked up shit about Ricky in college, actually. Nothing concrete but I know he had a girlfriend back then who hates his guts now. Maybe he hurt her or something. I should ask Claire about that, just to be sure.
SCRRRRIP
I reached for my phone to do just that. I tried to put the brush down but Bella moved with it, like she was glued to the thing. I laughed, she really does love that brush, but I couldn't pull the brush away. I looked and realized it was stuck to her face. I leaned in closer and realized that the metal bristles of the brush had dug into the flesh of her cheeks and each pass of the brush had been pulling more and more of her face away. I tried my best to delicately disentangle the brush from her, expecting her to lash out with her claws in pain, but she was actually purring like crazy. I almost ripped her face off and she was loving it. I picked her up to carry her to the bathroom where the light was better. On the way, I slipped on discarded paper towels and other garbage strewn about the dining room.
I held her head in place with one hand and gingerly pried the brush out of her fur, one bristle at a time. Her fur was sticky with blood and the flesh of her cheek sucked the brush in and made it hard to pull out. All the while I was doing this I was softly crying and cooing to her,
"It's okay, I'm sorry. It's okay, I'm sorry." But she really didn't seem to mind at all.
I was finally able to get it loose and she hopped down off the bathroom sink to trot into the dining room, collar going jingle jingle jingle as she walked. I ran the brush under the tap and gobs of skin and hair dropped into the sink and vanished down the drain. I threw up a little and sat down heavily on the toilet.
I have to take her to the vet. I thought, trying to convince myself, Her face is all torn up. I have to take care of this now. I'm responsible for this thing.
Trying to ignore all the possible questions the vet would ask, trying to ignore the thought of how much this will cost, I headed into the living room to get my phone. When I picked it up, there was an email notification from Pete:
BLAKELY, Peter - HEY BUD!!!
I looked at Bella, who was happily lapping at her water dish, not a care in the world. I opened the email.
---
BROOOOO!
Morocco is CRAZY! So many people, so much sand, so. Much. Sangria! We've just been wandering Marrakesh, Bon found this list of Hidden Gem restaurants that we've been hopping. Dude, you need to come here! It's so beautiful!
How's our sweet girl? Send us some HOT PICS of our CUTE CAT pls!
Love you,
P&B
---
I put my phone in my pocket and stared at the wall. I looked over at Bella who jingled her way out of the room. I followed her to the back door. She looked at me, a ragged chunk of flesh hanging off the right side of her face, and imagined emailing Pete the news about his "sweet girl." I imagined Bonnie crying at the pain I caused her while I'm trying to make it better and begging her not to go and please Claire no I need you please don't go.
Aeioooorw
"It's after dinner, I'm not supposed to let you out."
Aeioooorw
I let her out.
That night I dreamt there was a man standing at the foot of my bed. This man looked just like me, except he was healthy and handsome and confident, and he wore a friendly smile and his hair was perfect. This man was wearing clothes I would never buy but that looked awesome on him. He motioned for me to follow him and I did. In his wake, he left a pleasant scent of aftershave, hair putty, and fresh laundry, intoxicating but not overbearing. His leather boots made clap clap clap footsteps as he walked, totally overpowering my tentative padding, as he strode out of the bedroom. As I passed through the bedroom door, I emerged into a long, wide hallway. It seemed we were not in Bonnie & Pete's apartment but in some kind of hotel or convention centre. The lighting was soft and amber-tinged, and a pleasingly neutral carpet pattern zigzagged across the floor. Wooden Louis XIV-style tables were pushed against the wall at regular intervals, each one holding a clear glass vase of fresh flowers. The spectre strode forward, not waiting for me, right down the middle of the hallway toward a pair of doors at the far end. The doors were closed but he pushed both open at once and stepped through the middle. He shoved them a bit to give me the space to squeak in, and I had to scurry forward to make it through.
We had arrived in a large ballroom with a two-storey high ceiling. Massive Phantom of the Opera chandeliers hung suspended from domed depressions, their crystal glittering with artificial candlelight. The room was packed with hundreds of people in fancy dress yet it didn't feel crowded. The marble floor shone spotlessly and although no one in the room paid me or my doppelganger any mind at all, their reflections on the floor all stared at him. Servers in black and white catering uniforms passed around colourful cocktails in coupe glasses and I followed my successful twin as he snatched one off the silver platter, sliding a quick "Thank you" to the server as he passed. The server blushed and looked down at her work shoes, followed him with her eyes, then moved on into the crowd.
I followed him and, though the crowd grew denser, I had no trouble getting through. The people seemed to part for him as he passed. We came to a clearing in the crowd where the people had formed a large circle. Within the circle were several pairs of dancers engaged in a twirling waltz, accompanied by a live quartet on a riser. The couples whirled by us like dandelion seeds, each utterly engrossed in their partners yet somehow staying within that perfect circle.
I saw my other was fixated on one of the dancers, his eyes laser-focused over the rim of his glass. He was staring at the only lone dancer: A woman in a midnight blue satin gown, whose auburn hair flowed down her naked back. Her toned arms held an invisible partner and her bare feet peaked and spun with every step. She whirled along with the other dancers and, as she approached me and my shadow, he drained his cocktail and handed it to me without looking. She spun towards us and I saw that it was Claire. He neatly stepped into the ring of dancers and locked into place with her. The two of them swept away into the dance, leaving me with his empty glass.
I looked down into the bowl of the cocktail and when I looked up, the dance was over and the dance circle had collapsed like a bubble underwater. I wandered through the crowd of faceless, stylish people and was drawn to flashbulbs popping off near the front of the room, where a gilded proscenium stage topped with angels loomed above the crowd.
Standing there, his arm around Claire's waist, was me. Was him. The me I wish I could be. He was dressed in a blue blazer that perfectly complemented her dress. Getting closer, I noticed it had a subtle paisley pattern running all along it, like schools of fish swarming along the sleeves and chest, that seemed to move and shift as he spoke. His sleeves were rolled up, and the hint of a tasteful tattoo peeked out from under the cuff. His beard was professionally trimmed and hugged his face perfectly. His hair was frozen in a windswept wave like he was permanently on a sailboat.
The crowd had formed another, smaller bubble around him and Claire, and he stood next to a sign with his face on it. He was being interviewed and photographed for something, but I couldn't tell what. He answered questions briefly but respectfully, deferring to his beautiful wife who piped in occasionally to deliver the perfect cutting witticism to prove she wasn't just some ornament to his success. Their charm radiated off him in calming waves. This is perfect, I thought.
From behind, I hear a loud thunk that echoes through the ballroom. When I turn to look, I see the chandelier at the far end has gone dark, along with all the lights around it. I watch as the next one goes out, then the next, until all the lights in the room have been extinguished, with only the chandelier above me still lit. I face forward again. The crowd is gone, the big room is empty, except for me and my twin. He winks at me, and the last of the lights go out.
I stand in darkness for a moment, then the bright lights of the proscenium blaze to life. The pot lights on the floor of the stage spill hot white light onto the bare stage and the glow of the gilded arch washes over me. I find myself sitting in a red velvet chair with a folding seat. The wooden armrest under my right hand has a brass plate screwed into it that reads "Claire Dunning 1985-2019"
I look back at the stage and watch as a pair of black-clad stagehands enters stage left carrying a big rolled-up carpet on their shoulders. They unroll it across the floor and exit. More stagehands enter, each pushing or carrying a piece of furniture. I recognize all of it instantly: there's the crappy armchair I drunkenly carried off the street with my university roommate, there's the pressboard TV stand we inherited from her big sister, and the colossal TV I won in a contest. Two stagehands bring on the white-painted bookshelf she's had since she was a little girl, one side dotted with sparkly stickers. A different stagehand enters with a big cardboard box and begins placing individual books on the shelf. I know them well: a full set of Harry Potter red-covered first editions mixed with the more adult black covers for the later stories, a bunch of books about film theory and photography from her university days, some Heather's Picks beach reads, all the Sandman books - books I walked by every single day for eight years.
I watch as this facsimile of our living room is slowly constructed for me, bit by bit, everything we had accumulated over the years, even the things I had forgotten about or picked up without a thought of how it would embed itself into the fabric of my memory, each individual thing, from sentimental mementos to the pure useless crap that slowly filled up shelves or fell behind the couch, each a bit of us that tumbled off our lives like skin cells adding to the dust of the past.
The stagehands clear away and the lights go down. When they come back up, there I am, sitting on the couch, and there she is, sitting on the couch. Together but apart. She's playing a video game and I'm reading. Both our feet are curled up beneath us and only our toes are touching. She wiggles hers and I watch myself smile. Sitting in the theatre seat, alone watching this performance, I start to cry. I put my hand over my mouth and try to wipe the tears away as this pantomime of a Sunday afternoon plays out in real time monotony, preserved forever.
She puts the controller down and stares at the floor. From the audience, I watch her screw her mouth up as tears start to form. She closes her eyes and puts her head down so her chin is almost touching her chest. I watch her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes deep. She wipes the tears away and looks over at me, sat on the other end of the couch, though I may as well be a million miles away. She opens her mouth to speak but hesitates. She runs her tongue across her top lip and tries again to say something. She looks away. The tears come back and she wipes them. She picks the controller back up and goes back to her game. I watch myself sitting there, reading, oblivious.
In the audience, I scream at the version of myself on the stage to look at her. To say something. To talk to her. To fix this. They can't hear me. I can't hear me. A stagehand backs onto the stage wearing big heavy work gloves and carrying a giant slab of hard, clear plastic. He crosses the stage until the set is behind this plastic window and I see the other side is being carried by another stagehand. They set the plastic down and a third and fourth stagehand secure the sheet to the floor of the stage. All four exit, then reenter with an identical sheet that covers the back of the set, then one for the left side, and one for the right. Claire and I are now sitting in a giant tank, she playing her game and me reading. Our feet are no longer touching.
Water pours onto the stage from above, falling onto the couch in the space between us. The water flows down onto the carpet and starts to fill the tank. I watch myself read as the water reaches the couch cushions and covers my legs. I watch as the water covers her hands, still gripping the controller. I watch as the water goes over our heads and we sit, together but apart, on the couch as the water fills the apartment completely and starts to flow over the top of the tank.
Claire snaps out of it and drops the controller, which slowly sinks to the bottom of the tank. She stands on the couch and pushes off the cushions, swimming up to the surface, but the fifth piece of clear plastic descends and covers the tank just as she reaches it. She bangs on the roof of the tank, then swims back down and slams her fists, then her feet, against the sides. She desperately swims around our living room, her movements growing increasingly frantic as she falls into a panic. I'm sitting, in the audience and on the couch, and I do nothing. On the stage, I'm reading, in the audience, I'm just watching. I'm watching as she screams under the water, her scream giving form and boiling out of her in a great gout of white bubbles. I watch her suck in pure water, her eyes bulging with the shock and the pain, and her small, thin body convulses as her lungs fill with water. She claws at her throat and her legs kick wildly, futilely, then are finally still.
On the couch, I turn the page.
I woke up with the taste of copper in my mouth because sometime in the night I had bitten through my tongue. I lay in the bed for a long time, my heart pounding, sheets soaked with sweat. I had kicked the duvet away and it lay in a heap at the foot of the bed, all tangled into a grey clump. I looked over at the clock: 5:03. Bella should be meowing her way back in the house any minute now, I thought, I'll get up when she gets here.
But fifteen minutes passed and she didn't make a peep. Instead, just before 5:30, I heard a soft jingle jingle jingle coming from the kitchen. I was confused, I was sure I'd let her out last night. I decided to get up and feed her: it was a good excuse to check out the damage I did to my tongue in the night.
As I poured a scoop of dry food into her bowl, I went over the dream from the night before. I remembered it in crystal clear detail: the ballroom; my confident, attractive, better self; the play; Claire drowning. The message was clear: I could have fixed something and I didn't. I'm seeing her tonight and I won't make that mistake again. This is my chance to man up and make things right!
Bella didn't come when the food hit the dish but I paid it no mind. I went into the bathroom to look at my tongue, but the bleeding had stopped and I didn't see any obvious damage. What was I gonna do, anyway? Put a bandaid on it?
I went back into the bedroom to get my phone and text Claire:
I'm free Friday
We never went to that place in Emeryville
Oh yeah! Okay let's do that
Great!
--
Hey! We still on tonight???
The moment I sent the message I realized that it wasn't yet 6am and that I must look like a total psycho. Oh well, too late, I thought, at least now she'll know I'm serious.
Jingle jingle jingle
I went into the kitchen to make sure Bella really had come inside and to interrogate her about how she got in, but the kitchen remained empty. Frowning, I took the bag of treats out of the cupboard and gave it a shake. I whistled as I patrolled the house, shaking the little treat bag as I walked about, but she didn't appear.
I went down to the basement, thinking maybe she got into the compost, but she wasn't there either. The bin was right where I left it: on the floor along with the debris of the collapsed shelf that tore up my nose.
Jingle jingle jingle
I headed back upstairs and tossed the treat bag onto the kitchen counter. I've got to get ready for a date! I thought, smiling for the first time in a week.
-----
The water of the shower was way too hot but I suffered through it. I hadn't realized how tense the muscles of my back and neck had been until I started to feel them melt under the scalding water. The air was heavy in there, thick and wet like the jungle, and I had to work hard to suck in each breath.
"Nice to see you," I say, staring at the floor of the tub.
"Thanks, you look nice." I smile, the hot water pours over the back of my neck.
"Oh, hah, this old thing?"
"I bought you that."
"I know, that's why I wore it."
The air was so heavy in the shower, I was having trouble breathing.
CLAIRE: I wanted to give it back to you
CLAIRE takes off the scarf
SEAN: No, keep it, it was a gift
CLAIRE tries to hand him the scarf, insisting
CLAIRE: I don't want it
SEAN: I don't want to take it, I want you to have it
CLAIRE: I don't. WANT. IT.
CLAIRE tosses the scarf onto the table
I tried to take in a deep breath but the air was so hot and so heavy. I put my hands over my face to try and snap myself back into the present. I reached for the soap but my eyes blurred a bit. It must have been the heat. Fuck, it was so hot.
SEAN: Let's start over
SEAN goes to pour her some wine. CLAIRE puts her hand over her glass.
CLAIRE: No, I'm not staying. I just came to say this. (beat) I never loved you. I just went out with you because I felt bad for you: you were always alone at those parties and nobody would talk to you. Sue thought it would be funny if we went out and I went along with it because you were nice and I was lonely.
I leaned over and put my hands on my knees, trying to breathe, but the water poured off the back of my neck and round my cheeks and into my mouth and nostrils.
CLAIRE: (con't) And then school got busy and I was glad to have you around. You were a nice distraction from everything and when things started to go badly for you and you started failing, I liked that you came to me for support. It made me feel good to make you feel good, and it was great to have someone to talk to. When you started to get serious I didn't really want to but I didn't have a reason not to. I just thought, "Why not?"
CLAIRE takes a drink from her water glass. SEAN doesn't move.
CLAIRE: (con't) Everything was "Why not?" When you asked me to move in? "Why not?" When you asked me to marry you? "Why not?" I never took you seriously. I was just along for the ride because I was worried about what you would do to yourself if I rejected you.
CLAIRE takes another drink from her water glass. SEAN doesn't move.
I had to sit down on the floor of the tub. I was having trouble breathing and I could barely see. I tried to reach over my head to turn the hot water down and my breathing got faster and shallower. A thin groan escaped my lips. Distantly, I thought I heard a faint jingle.
CLAIRE: So, eventually, I had enough. You weren't going anywhere and I wasn't going anywhere with you. I needed out so I fed you some bullshit about wanting to be friends and needing to be on my own, but the truth is that I needed to get away from you. You were always the problem and I can finally admit that to myself. I'm telling you because I need to say it: Fuck off and leave me alone.
I crawled out of the tub and lied down on the bathroom floor, the steam still billowing out of the shower. I tried to get my breathing under control in short, shuddering gasps. I started to bang my head against the bathroom tiles, harder and harder and harder.
---
I spent the entire day rotating between the couch and the bed, the possibility of her cruelty like a yawning chasm that I kept tumbling back into. No matter how far I was able to walk my thoughts away from it, it would begin to pull me back in. It was insidious. I didn't realize I was doing it until I was fully engaged in a phantom conversation between Claire and myself. I watched the hours tick by on the clock and kept telling myself I had plenty of time, hours upon hours, while the time vanished.
I was given a jolt just after noon when she texted me back:
Hey! We still on tonight???
Yep
And the casualness of her reply nearly made me explode.
At 6:15, I knew I couldn't delay anymore. I needed to get dressed and get ready. This was my chance, after all, and I should do my best.
I had another shower and managed to keep the script at bay, for the most part, by pounding my fist against the shower wall whenever the chasm would threaten to suck me back in. I put a fresh bandage across my nose and found some of Bonnie's foundation to smear under my eyes in an attempt to cover up my dual black eyes. I put on a tie, then took it off, then put it back on again, totally unsure of how casual I should be. She had bought me a tie for my birthday years ago but I hadn't packed it. What a fucking idiot I was.
It dawned on me that we hadn't set a time to meet. Why hadn't she clarified? Why hadn't I? Did we have a standard time we used to have dinner? I couldn't remember. Should I text her and ask or should I just show up at 7:30 like that was how we'd planned it all along? I stood in the bathroom, the overhead fan whirring, and stared at our conversation on my phone for five whole minutes.
Hi
Hi. How are you feeling?
Okay. I was sad all weekend but I'm ok now.
Good. Did you see anyone?
Yeah, Kate on Friday and I stayed with my sister all weekend.
That's good
I'm sorry you were sad
Thanks.
I'm sorry too.
Thanks
Are you at home?
No I'm at Bonnie & Pete's.
I'm house sitting for them while they're
out of the country
Where did they go?
Morocco
Cool!
They're so cool
Yeah
I love you
I know.
------
Hi.
Hey!
What's up?
Are you okay?
Yeah I'm fine.
Did you want to meet up this weekend?
Sure!
When were you thinking?
We could go to Gannet
I was thinking maybe something a bit
more neutral
Oh yeah
Just to avoid bad feelings
Yeah of course
Definitely
I'm free Friday
We never went to that place in Emeryville
Oh yeah! Okay let's do that
Great!
-----
Hey! We still on tonight???
Yep
Reading it again, I kept shaking my head at how naive I had been. She didn't want to see me, she could just tell how desperate I was. This was just something she had to get done so I would finally leave her alone like she always wanted. She didn't need me haunting her anymore. I should just stay home with the cat.
The cat.
She'd been gone for almost 24 hours now, not a peep. I looked at the clock: 6:56. If I was going to leave, I had to leave now. I couldn't leave with the cat outside, what if something happened? There, done, I won't go out, I thought, but immediately had a flash of Claire sitting alone at a table, finishing a glass of wine, trying to fight back tears, everyone in the place staring at her and knowing what had happened, the server pointedly asking "Will there be anything else?"
I went outside, treat bag in hand, and whistled for Bella. The backyard jungle sat quiet, unmoving in the dusk under the city lights. I peaked under the patio table, I peered into the branches of the tree, I stood on my toes to investigate the neighbour's yards. Nothing.
My mind raced: If she's been outside all day, she can last another few hours, I thought, But what if...? I hesitated. Even the thought of this was too much to hope for, but I indulged myself anyway: What if I don't come home? What if this all works out and we get back together?
Fuck the cat, then! I thought and turned to go inside.
Jingle jingle jingle
I looked over my shoulder. The yard was empty except for the carcass of a sparrow that lay on the patio table. Had it been there before? I couldn't remember. I'll get it when I get home, I decided and opened the back door.
Jingle jingle jingle
Now there were five dead sparrows on the table, and one or two on the chairs, and a few on the concrete floor of the patio. I took a step forward and another dead bird fell from the sky, landing with a soft, silent thump before me. I looked up, and a rain of dead sparrows began, tumbling off the roof of the house, the neighbours', breaking through three branches to fall, spinning, onto the ground.
Jingle jingle jingle
I was frozen, holding the door open with one hand and the bag of treats in the other, as the birds continued to fall from the sky. Before long, the whole backyard was layered in brown feathers, cracked beaks, and grasping feet. Then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. I stared, breathing heavily through my mouth, not sure what to do.
I heard a squeak. Then another, then more, and the carpet of dead birds began to writhe as the tiny animals squealed to life in terrible pain, their bones cracking as they flailed about in terror, the sound of their cries a piercing keen and underneath it all a soft jingle jingle jingle.
I went back into the kitchen and slammed the door behind me.
She was already at a table when I arrived. I wondered why she'd picked a table near the back, away from the front windows - was she trying to keep people from seeing that we were meeting? The restaurant was narrow and deep but it wasn't too busy - she was sitting alone at a table for four. I watched her as I snaked my way between the tables. She was on her phone, tucked away under the lip of the table, and the harsh white glow of the screen cast severe shadows on her face. Did she not want me to see who she was texting? Her hair was straight and messy, she hadn't done anything to it, and she was wearing a cream cable knit sweater. I was right not to have dressed up, apparently.
I had a terrible case of the butterflies as I got closer and had the impulse to just turn right around and leave, but she looked up from her phone and spotted me. Her smile quickly fell into a mask of concern, her brows knitting together and her mouth vanishing into a thin line. She stood up from behind the table and came to meet me.
"Hey," She said as we hugged, "Are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah," I lied around my sore tongue, my throat thick from lack of use - I hadn't spoken to anyone since I screamed at the pizza guy the day before. I held onto her. God, she felt good. She pulled away.
"How are you?" I asked. I pulled out a chair and started to sit down but she stayed standing, so I got back up to my full height.
"What happened to your face?" She asked, and her cool, soft hand touched my cheek.
We froze for a moment. I hadn't expected her to touch me so quickly. She seemed to realize that had been a mistake and I felt her hand pull away a fraction of an inch, though it stayed on my face.
"Oh, I, uh," I had to look away from her eyes. My heart was pounding, "I pulled a shelf down..." Truth is easiest, I decided.
"I guess you did!" She finally pulled her hand away and sat down.
I sat too, "Been here long?"
"Five minutes." She said, wrapping her hair back behind her ears, "We never actually said when to meet!"
We laughed together, "Yeah, well, we were never good at making plans." I said.
"Yeah." Awkward pause. "It's cool we're finally here!"
"For sure, I'm glad to see you."
"Oh," Her face twitched just a bit, "I meant, like, it's cool we're here at Brookline-"
"Oh!" I said, too loud, "Yeah, yeah, me too. I'm excited to try it. I've always wanted to try it."
"I know, yeah."
Another awkward pause. Where was the damn waiter?
"How's the house?"
"Ah, good," I said, "It's got a-"
"Can I get you two started with any drinks?" Here he was!
Here we go, I thought, "We'll have two Old Fashioneds!" I declared smoothly.
"Oh," She said, "I'll just have water, thanks."
The waiter tried to make a joke out of it "So, two Old Fashioneds for you, big guy...?" He dropped it when he clocked my broken up face.
"Just one I guess." I ordered flatly.
"Okay." He left.
"You're not drinking?" I asked.
"No." She said, taking a sip of water and avoiding my gaze.
A pause.
"You were telling me about the house."
"Right! Yeah, it's got a huge backyard that backs out into a, like, overgrowth? So it just turns into a jungle back there."
"Cool! Have you been sitting out there a lot?"
"Oh yeah," I lied, "I spend, like, all day out there!" She didn't like how much time I spent indoors, especially in the summer.
A pause.
"And tell me about this cat." Her eyes sparkled with joy: she loved cats but she was allergic.
"Her name is Bella and she's very cute." I said enthusiastically.
"Yeah?"
"Ah, I dunno, she meows a lot." The front door of the restaurant opened and the little bell tied to it went jingle jingle jingle.
She leaned into the table, enjoying the game, "Uh-huh, what else?"
I laughed, what did she want me to say? "I dunno, she's a cat."
"Well, what does she like to eat?" She was obviously trying to keep this going but I didn't know what to say.
"Cat food?" Her hands were clasped almost in the middle of the table. I could so easily reach out and put my hand over them.
"Right." She sat back, her hands out of reach. "Makes sense."
"Yeah!" I laughed but she took another drink of water.
"Two Old Fashioneds!" The waiter said, but he only delivered one glass. "What can I get you two for dinner?"
"I'll have the pasta fresca with gluten free noodles," She started and I tried not to roll my eyes, "and I can't eat bell peppers, like they can't even touch, so can you make sure it's prepared on a separate surface?"
I'll give the guy credit, he did a great job hiding his annoyance which was something I never learned how to do with her millions of 'sensitivities', "For sure. Our owner is celiac and has really severe allergies so we have a totally separate prep station for allergies, different cutlery, everything you can think of."
"Oh, that's great!" She said, sitting up straight in her chair. I hadn't realized she'd been slouching until she wasn't, "I always feel so bad..."
"Don't be!" He said, "It's really common and any decent place has to be accommodating to dietary restrictions. It's just part of the biz now."
"All right," I thought sardonically but they both looked at me. Had I said that out loud?
"You do you, honey!" He yelped after a second.
She clapped her hands together, "Oh, I will!" She laughed.
He turned to me, "And you?"
I put on my most sincere smile, "I'll have the chicken."
"Which one?"
"Just any chicken." I said and put the menu down, "I'm not picky."
"Ooookay." He tucked his notepad away into his black apron, "I'll be back."
But he couldn't just leave the table could he? He had to say one more thing to her: "How's your water level?"
"Good!" She replied brightly, and as he turned to walk way I swear he flashed me a shit-eating grin.
"He's quite the character..." I managed and all I got for my trouble was "Mhm" as she sipped her water again.
Jingle jingle jingle.
The longest pause yet. A pause that stretched into eternity and created a vacuum, sucking in all my anxieties and worries. I wondered if she was aware of how awkward this was, or if it was just me? Did the people at the other tables know? Could they tell we were fighting but we used to be lovers, holding each other close in the darkness for hours, cocooned under the blankets dreading getting up and facing the world, wishing for it all to go away? There has to be something I can do to bring us back to that place.
"I had a dream about you."
She had been looking away but her eyes flashed to meet mine in an instant. She looked worried, she was bracing herself, like she did right before "we need to talk."
She swallowed, "Oh yeah?"
Jingle jingle jingle
"We were at a ball."
"A ball?"
"Like a party. And you were dancing."
"Dancing how?"
"A waltz. You were alone and I came to meet you and we danced in a circle for a while. Then we were being interviewed," She sat back in her chair, it looked like she was deflating, "And I said something pithy and you made this snarky comment." I chuckled but she shut her eyes.
She was too far away, so I sat forward and reached out for her, but she pulled back even further into her seat, "And we were laughing and so happy and I just miss you so much..." I could feel tears on my face and her face twisted into this horrible mix of concern and fear. Pity. That was it. She pitied me.
She sat forward and leaned on the table but didn't take my hands. I just wanted to touch her. I tried to keep talking but I couldn't breathe.
"Sean, listen to me," She said firmly, "You're having a panic attack."
At that I lost it, and a big sob burst out of my mouth, "Oh god!"
"It's okay," Her words were soothing but her voice was shaky, "Just breathe through it, I'm here."
I lunged for her hands and she tried to pull away but I seized them and held on tight. She sucked air in through her teeth and I felt her hands tense up under mine. "I need you, I want you, I still love you." Words I had wanted to say for weeks but they came out all wrong, I sounded desperate, weak, pathetic.
"Sean..."
She looked down, I looked up at her. My chin was almost touching the table.'
She took a deep breath. Her hands relaxed.
"We tried. We were together for so long you became every part of me, everything I did was about you, in some way. I didn't have my own life, I had our life- in some ways, I still don't. I'm still tied to you and, seeing you like this," She finally looked at me and I saw she wasn't crying at all, "It's not healthy. I can't help you if I can't help myself and I can't keep living my life as one half of something. I need to be whole first. Do you hear me? There's nothing you can do to fix this because there's nothing to fix." A let another gasping sob go and this seemed to shake her a bit, but she kept going, "Please believe me. I need to do this for myself."
I released her hands and they fell into my lap. I felt the waiter come near, but he left without saying anything. The sound of the restaurant, murmurs and soft jazz and clinking utensils, combined with the pulse of blood in my brain started to make me sick.
"Hey," She said, "You hear me?"
I nodded. I nodded and laughed.
"I hear you," I looked up at her, "I fucking hear you."
"Sean..."
"You fucking dragged me out here, made promises to me, just to tell me this shit." She closed her eyes and ran her tongue along the bottom of her top teeth. She sat back in her chair. "Fuck you." I said.
Her eyes squeezed even further shut. She was trying to get away from me, but I wouldn't let her.
Jingle jingle jingle
"You hear me? You hear ME?" I reached out to her and knocked some things on the table aside. I distantly heard the sound of a water glass shattering on the floor. "I've been sleeping in our bed, the bed we bought together, alone, for weeks. When Peter asked me to housesit I almost lost my mind: of course I wanted to do it, wanted to get out of that prison you locked me in. I couldn't wait to get out."
The waiter came over and was saying something to me, trying to grab my arm. I realized then that I had stood up. I couldn't hear him, I could barely hear myself, it was so loud in there. Claire wouldn't look at me.
"Youyouyou...you cheated on me! Didn't you? That's why you left! It's not about me! It's not about me! It's about someone else. Tell me." She wouldn't look at me, her eyes were open, she was staring off into the distance, "Tell me. Tell me there was someone else. Tell me. Claire," She finally looked at me then, but she didn't look sad, she looked so tired. "Claire. Please. Please. Tell me."
She didn't say anything.
"I need you. Claire. I need you. I need youIneedyouIneedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouineedyouine
I'm back in the house.
I don't remember getting home.
The lights are all off.
I have a headache.
----
It's morning, or anyway the sun is up.
It's hot in here.
My back hurts.
I'm hungry.
----
My phone is almost dead.
Nobody's texted me or called me or anything.
Not even her.
----
It's dark again.
Where's the cat?
I should find the cat.
I could use a little cat therapy.
----
I get up off the floor. I grab a nearby piece of paper and wipe the blood off my face. My phone is dead and the power must have gone out and come back on because the clock on the stove is blinking 12:00. It's dark out and the street is quiet. Not city quiet, with the distant hum of cars and trucks and rooftop radiators, but totally silent. The only sound is a thumping coming from downstairs.
And
Jingle jingle jingle
The basement. Did she get in through the back window? I stand at the top of the stairs. The lights won't come on. I start to head down. My brain is killing me; like I'm hungover. My jaw hurts--a deep ache. My vision is blurry. I take my glasses off before I go down the stairs and find one of my lenses has popped out. I put them back on because they're better than nothing. I go down. It's dark and smells of dusty concrete.
Jingle jingle jingle
The laundry room is in the back. The basement is crowded and claustrophobic but Bonnie has tried to make it nice: there's an antique side-table with a vase of flowers on it halfway down the hallway, right before the little step up to the hot water heater. The heater's pilot light blazes with blue flame and faint amber streetlight spills in through the basement window. My throat is killing me, like I've been screaming in my sleep.
Jingle jingle jingle
The thumping is loudest here. The dryer is on, cranked up to full. I put my hand to the door handle and the heat of it feels freezing cold for an instant, then burns. I wrap my hand in a tea towel and open the door. The dryer spins violently. Something is inside, thumping around, something dark, and as the tumbler slows I can glimpse a grey shape spinning around and around until it drops with a metallic thud to the bottom of the vessel.
I reach in and pull out something soft and sticky it's dark and I have to bring it right up to my face to see it something soft in my hand it's been torn apart it's been eaten I'm screaming my voice is raw and I drop it and when it hits the ground it jingles.
----
Bonnie and Peter cut their vacation a few days short because they haven't heard from Sean in days. Peter has to climb in through the bedroom window and wade through piles of trash to open the front door for his wife who puts her hand in front of her face to cover the smell. They find him in the basement clutching a bloody piece of paper in his hand that says:
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
WE LOVE YOU!!!!!!