I came by your house today. The red door surprised me. I sat in the car wondering if it was the right house. But of course it is. I switched off the engine, pulled the latch, and waited. I shouldn’t have come here; I know I shouldn’t have, but I stepped out of the car anyway. Three steps up to the sidewalk, fifteen more to the door.
I searched the door for the reason you changed it. I found the dent on the right where we tried moving a couch once, and the gold knob we painted is trying to come through the black.
I watched my hand reach for the mailbox hanging beside the door, but I stopped it before it could intrude.
I peeked in the window, but you weren’t there. I shook my head. I always told you that anyone could see in if they wanted to. My fingers ran across the banister as I took one, two, three steps down.
I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I went to the side door. The one we always kept unlocked, the one that goes to the sun room. My hand twisted the knob, and I smiled; you finally fixed the squeak. The air conditioning was cold on my skin. I shivered and thought of your arms, how they used to hold me.
The wicker sofa creaked as I sat down, then whispered to me. I rubbed my hands along the worn fabric. I think it missed me. Your mom gave us this couch, but ‘us’ really meant you.
I slipped off my shoes and curled up in the corner like I used to do. My bird feeders were still there; you never moved them. I smiled, but then I noticed they were empty and abandoned. I shouldn’t be surprised; you never cared about the birds like I did.
Your desk is still in the same spot near the other door that leads to the kitchen. You still keep your mail in piles that have no sense of order. I started picking up pieces to rearrange them. That’s when I found a copy of the restraining order. My eyes tightened, my heart pounded, my knees felt like they might give out. I grabbed the desk; the wall started to move with each breath I’d take. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s only an illusion. I grabbed some books from your shelf and covered the papers.
The carpet felt soft on my feet as I walked back to my shoes. I looked up behind the sofa, and I saw what you did in the yard. You let a big dog move in, and it was on our furniture. The cushions are gone, the pretty blue ones I bought. I bet the dog chewed them up, and I bet you laughed when you saw it.
I banged on the window, but the beast didn’t move. It just sat there slobbering, reminded me of you. I snarled in disgust as I stared at the dog refusing to look at me. ‘Get down!’ I yelled, but it didn’t bother; it just laid its head down and yawned as if I were the problem.
I paced in the sunroom, one end to the other, trying to decide how to get the dog off of the furniture.
I found a box of pool toys in the corner. Since when do you have kids over? Are you seeing someone’s mother? I grabbed them and threw each out of the door, screaming at the dog, ‘Get down!’ But he grew increasingly bored. Yawning and taunting me with his droopy, watery eyes.
The heat in my cheeks meant I should’ve let it go. But this dog, your dog? Had eaten my cushions. I paced faster and faster back and forth across the room. I started to sweat and thought that if that creature wasn’t there, I could get in the pool.
My mouth dried out, and I started to cough. I knew you wouldn’t like that, so I went in for some water. The glasses were still in the cabinet where I had put them. It was the best spot, by the fridge and the ice maker. I pressed the button for ice and then for water. I drank it all down and relaxed into the counter. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. You still use the scents I chose; you haven’t forgotten me yet. I felt my face relax as a smile crossed my lips.
I opened my eyes, and my mouth dropped open a bit. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it; the stack of cushions I bought was piled up in a corner. Chills ran across my body as I realized you still love me.
I rinsed and dried my cup, then placed it back in the cabinet. I put your books back on the shelf and made a mess of your mail again. That’s when I realized I would need to collect the toys I threw at the dog. My nose crinkled at the sight of it, so big, so dirty. But I had to figure it out; I knew I should probably hurry. If you came home and found me, you might decide you don’t love me.
I stood tapping my thumbs together, trying to think. I didn’t know if the dog would just lie there or try to touch me. I heard a bang in front of the house, a car door, maybe. So the toys had to stay. I’m sorry I left a mess. You know, if I had time, I wouldn’t have done it that way. I slipped out the side door, the same way I came in. That’s when I saw her; you lied to me again. You lied with the cushions; you lied with the scents.
