Home (From: The Diary Of A Lunatic)

A woman sat in a pinewood chair, reading a newspaper article about an expensive boat trip. She thought about whether she should buy a ticket, and how long it had been since she fed the birds. A long time, she thought, longer than normal even. But it was for a good reason. She put down the paper and stood, glancing around the room to make sure it was clean, otherwise her husband would be upset. All was well until she spotted a white speck on her cobalt blue walls. That tiny speck, so visible on such a large surface. Nevertheless, she hurried to her sink cabinet, pushing over the faucet and digging through the fairly large cabinet space. After she reorganized all twenty-seven cans, she started shaking the one she held onto. Her eyes wandered and locked onto the description of the bottle: Artificially created property of Arty Inc. It was spray paint. She stood and made for the wall, moving through her kitchen, around the pinewood table, and the empty chairs, over the half-pulled carpet in the living room, until she finally made it back to the wall.

She sprayed the surface, and she paused for a moment, realizing what she’d just done. She’d sprayed instead of painting it. She smacked herself on the head and scoffed, standing again to return to the kitchen. She moved towards the carpet and tripped, stumbling and knocking over the vase that her husband had bought her just the other day. For a moment she was stunned, hoping that the sound of shattered glass was anything but that beautiful gift.

She held her eyes down as she stood again, mortified by the idea that she’d shattered it. Then she glanced, just a peek, at the ground. It was the vase. Utterly destroyed. Her lips trembled, and she could feel her heart rate increasing. She clutched her chest and ran to the kitchen, hurrying past the chairs and the pinewood table. Her hand closed around the knob of the pantry, and she twisted it so fiercely that she felt a pain in her wrist that startled her. She grabbed the turquoise broom and the cobalt dustpan and hurried back to the living room, her feet scurrying across the polished wooden floor, just barely missing the pristinely white refrigerator, brushing past the pinewood table and the pinewood chairs, and planting themself upon the dusty wooden floor of the living room. She knelt down and carefully lifted each large shard, catching a quick glimpse of her horrified face in every piece of glass. All eyes were on her. She then swept the rest into the dustpan, and slowly walked through the living room, through the kitchen, and to the trash, where she dumped it. She stared into the trash can, peering into the eyes of the broken woman below her. Then she removed the quarter-full bag, tied it, slid into her cyan slippers, and left out the back door of the kitchen.

It was the evening, and the sun was setting quietly upon the horizon. The sky was a warm red, and she heard a car pass by on the street over. She couldn’t see past their wooden fence, but she listened to it anyway, the crunching of rocks underneath the rubber wheel. It wasn’t windy at all, but the air had a hint of humidity. She descended the few steps that led from her back door to the walkway, and opened the baby blue recycling bin, throwing the bag in and cringing at the sound of the glass hitting the bottom. She closed it, brushing her hands together and walking back to her steps. A small noise stopped her as her hand enclosed around the railing. She turned and looked at the garbage, just noticing the small cat sniffing behind it. It turned to look at her as if feeling her gaze upon its dirtied fur. The cat locked eyes with her, and for a moment it was quiet, no more car on the street, no more broken glass, just an intense peace. Then the cat turned its head and kept sniffing the garbage can. She sighed and turned back to the house, ascending the steps and opening the back door. She held it open for a moment, admiring the sky, and the warm reddish glow that was spread across it. She took a deep breath and shut the door.

After washing the dishes and finishing the pulling of the carpet, she climbed the steps of her home, the creaks just barely bearable. She entered her bathroom and spent two hours scrubbing it clean. After those two hours, she found herself staring in the mirror. She was reminded of the vase but tried to push the thought to the side, focusing more on the speck that persistently resisted all her scrubbings. She sighed and instead looked at herself, seeing her features clear as day. Her hair was in a messy bun, her eyes had bags under them, her wrinkles were prominent, her skin looked dry and haggard. She washed her face and then held the sides of the sink, letting the water trickle down her cheeks and drip into the shiny white porcelain below her. She held her eyes closed and let her imagination roam free. She was still standing over the sink, but her vision was fixated on the spout. How clean it was. How it shined. She gently touched the spout, feeling its smoothness, caressing his…she snapped out of it, looking at her flushed cheeks in the mirror. She took another glance at the pe-spout before leaving the bathroom for good.

She went back down the creaky steps, entering her kitchen, where she started to prepare dinner. She had just finished the mashed potatoes when she heard the subtle sound of footsteps approaching her door. She made the plates, just filling his glass when he opened the front door. She left the kitchen, past the set table and the empty chairs, walked through the carpet-less living room, and saw him, standing by the front door, his jacket over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up and showing his scar along his wrist, his hair messy, his jeans wrinkled, his shoes by the door. She stared at him, watching as he put his keys on the hook, as he hung his jacket on the coat rack, as he turned to face her, his eyes locking onto hers. For a second, they quietly held the look. Then he sighed and put his arms out for a hug. She smiled warmly and embraced him, kissing him and burying her face in his neck.

“I had a long day,” his breath smelled like alcohol, “I went out for a drink with Leo and a couple of other guys.” He held her, gently patting her head. “I kind of just want to sleep tonight, could you please put my food away? I’ll eat it tomorrow for lunch.” She nodded, sighing as they broke the embrace. She silently went back to the kitchen, putting his food into his Tupperware and storing it in the fridge while he walked up the steps. She sat alone at the table, eyeing her steak, corn, and mashed potatoes, lightly sipping her water. She played with her food for a while, then decided that she wasn’t all that hungry anymore. She stood from the table and picked up her plate. She walked over to the trash can and pulled up the lid and froze. She remembered the vase, and her anxiety spiked. She dumped her plate and with a new lingering sense of fear she started washing the dishes. Her mind went through every scenario, him coming downstairs and screaming at her, him getting angry and leaving, him destroying the house in a fit of rage, him strangling her, him…she felt arms wrap around her, and soft breaths against her neck. He held her stomach, gently swaying with her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep.” He said with a soft and sleepy voice.

“Are you okay?” she asked, setting the wet rag down and raising her soapy hands to meet his. He let out a deep sigh and kissed her cheek.

“I will be.” He turned her around with little force and kissed her lips. She could taste the alcohol on his breath but decided to keep going. She could feel the fear creeping, the broken vase lingering on her mind. She feared what he would say.

“Honey,” she said between breaths, “I have to tell you something.” He paused and put his forehead against hers. His eyes met hers and he waited.

She worked up the nerve, looking past how soft his eyes were. “I broke the vase.” He stared at her calmly. “I tripped on the rug then it shattered, and I also spray painted the wall instead of painting it and there’s a spot on the bathroom mirror and an alley cat out-” He started laughing. She was cut short, surprised by his reaction, and let out a nervous laugh, as he kept chuckling to himself.

“Riss, it’s okay. Is that all?” He had the kindest of smiles on his face.

“Yes,” she said, relief washing over her. He nodded and kissed her again, this time more passionately.

He pulled himself away and said, “I’m not angry, and who cares about a couple of dirty spots? It’s fine.” He chuckled again, this time letting her go and walking towards the stairs. “Come to bed,” he said as he left.

“Coming.” She followed him up the stairs, both sets of feet creaking along the stairway. They walked past the bathroom and entered their room, undressing and lying down next to each other. She wrapped her arms around him, her face snuggled into the back of his neck. They were both quiet for what felt like hours until she broke the silence.

“I miss you.” She felt tears streaming down her face. “I miss you so much, baby.” She began to weep, sobbing into his shoulder while he lay silent. After a few minutes of her crying, he finally spoke.

“I know, Riss.” She kept crying, clutching his body, clinging to him with everything that she had.

“I’m scared, Ryan. I’ve been scared for so long. I can’t take it anymore.” She spoke through sobs while he listened.

“It’s okay.” He turned and embraced her, laying his forehead against hers, slowly wiping away her tears. He didn’t ask the question, but she knew it was on his mind.

“How were you so sure? How can you be so happy now?”

“Riss,” he said calmly, “I think it’s time you fed the birds.” He said it, knowing that she wanted it more than anything. She nodded, trembling in his arms. He let her go and turned back around in bed, and she stood and walked out of the room.

She made her way to the stairs, slowly descending the creaky stairway, her hand sliding against the wall. She made her way through the kitchen, past the pinewood chairs and the pinewood table, past the carpet-less living room, past the cobalt wall, past the entrance where his jacket and shoes sat, entering the hallway, where she found the door to the bird room. She turned the handle, her wrist no longer hurting.

The door slowly opened, revealing a golden birdcage with two sparrows inside of it. She reached into the cabinet, pulling the container of feed down and opening it. She opened the cage, and the two sparrows watched as she poured it into their small bowls. One of them flew to the feed and started eating immediately, but the other was stagnant, staring into her eyes. She nodded slowly, feeling a tension release from her heart. The bird waited a moment, and then flew to the feed and joined its partner in eating. She left the room making her way back through the house, up the stairs, through the hallway, and into the bedroom, where she laid down in bed next to her husband. She covered both of them, and embraced him, smiling to herself as she slowly drifted into sleep.