Spring Cleaning

Spring cleaning should be done in just that- spring. The summer sun was too intense, warming the back of my cut-off as I loaded yet another box onto the bed of my pickup truck. As I dropped it into the bed, I wrapped my fingers around the bottle like a vice, the glass slippery in my sweat-slicked palms. The cool beer slid down my throat and I relished the pleasant tingle that crept up my arms as I finished off the drink.

My wife sat in the corner of the garage, smiling at me. Her long black hair flowed over her blue sundress and her bare feet were swinging from where she perched on top of my old work-bench. She had a way of watching me like that, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. Even as I turned back to the shelves, my eyes roaming at all the clutter still unpacked even as the day neared its end, I could still feel her eyes boring into my back. I knew she would’ve helped if I’d asked her to, but sometimes it was easier to just take care of it yourself.

“You know we don’t have to go,” she said softly, as I folded yet another box.

“You know I do,” I grumbled, snapping my head toward her, ire sparking against the beer warming my gut.

She nodded, looking out now toward where the boxes were packed in the back of the truck. Her bright green eyes glittered in the sunlight, like reflective pools holding every emotion, ready to carry whatever heartache you wanted to pour into them. She was so inviting. Captivating. She started humming, her serene voice filling the garage and cooling the fire that had started to burn beneath my skin. I smiled to myself as I turned back to the junk. The heat was getting to me, that was all; and just like always, she knew exactly how to calm me down.

The bottom shelf cleared out easily. At this point, I was just ready to leave this town far behind us. We’d already been held up with the move- too many tasks to ever fully complete the list. So I carelessly tossed the items into the box, the clatter of random tools clashing with her melody. I recognized it now. Our wedding song. It had a way of pulling me back to those memories every time she sang it.

My heart thrummed loudly in my ears as the nostalgia of being young and hopelessly in love swirled around my mind. We hadn’t been able to afford a honeymoon; instead, we took a trip to the lake, camping in our car. All we had needed back then was each other. I felt invincible with her, as we swam together under the full moon. Kissing in the water, clinging to each other like lifeboats, as if it could keep us from going under. From falling prey to the overwhelming stress of adulthood. Perhaps it would’ve been enough if we’d never moved to this damn town.

“I wish we could’ve stayed like that,” she murmured softly. Just like that my trance was broken and the walls snapped up around my mind. My heart.

“I did,” I snapped, shoving dirty oil rags into the box with too much force, the cardboard crumpling easily under my fist.

She just sighed, but stayed quiet. I lifted the box with a ragged breath and threw it into the bed. I wiped my hands onto my jeans, the fabric snagging on my frayed wedding band, the metal chipped and cracked from years of labor. I rubbed the callouses lining my palm in harsh circles as annoyance reared its head once more. I closed my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.

When I opened them again, my wife’s gaze was fixed with a small frown on a floral patterned box that was tucked away behind an old lawn mower that was too worn down to bother taking with.

“Aren’t you going to take it with?” The words echoed in my mind, reverberating in my ribcage. The box was too clean for my garage. Out of place. I’d kept it near my workspace to make her happy. Her smiling face popping out the door, a fresh beer in hand. A gentle hand running over my back as she looked over my shoulder, her cheek resting warmly against mine. Her eyes glowed when she saw her anniversary present tucked away beside me, a reminder of her even on the nights I worked late. She’d gently prod me into coming to bed early, the smile fading as I stubbornly refused. Now looking back I can’t remember what was so damn important that I refused.

A door closed softly, but loudly enough that it slammed on the memory in my mind as well. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts and looked to my wife to respond, but the workbench was empty now. My eyes flitted to the door going into the garage; it was well enough that she left. I couldn’t stand the flicker of hurt in her eyes again when I said I couldn’t take it with me.

Alarm bells rang in my mind, but my feet moved of their own accord, drawn to the floral box. Gently, I picked it up and placed it on the bench, the dust covering it stuck to my sweaty hand. A cloud drifted in front of the sun, casting me in shadow as I lifted the lid. The cold chill from the lack of abrasive sunshine swept over me, but I let my fingers peruse over the gift. She’d given it to me for our first wedding anniversary. A memory box. Full of all the keepsakes from our years together. Old photos, ticket stubs, vacation brochures. Even now, I had no clue when she found the time to put it together. We moved the week of our anniversary; I’d forgotten it entirely. But she always remembered. And always had a perfect gift in hand. A coy smile on her face. And just the right words to twist into my heart when she realized I’d forgotten.

I slammed the lid shut, suddenly feeling like I was looking at something vile. A token that screamed that I wasn’t enough. My wife’s soft humming resumed, seeping under the doorway from the house, only this time it did not put me at ease. I tossed the box back into the corner where it belonged, letting all the love letters she’d written topple onto the cement. Metal pinged against the concrete as a small silver circlet rolled out from under the box, spinning in small never-ending circles before my feet.

Her melody grew louder. My heart lurched into my throat as the blazing sun resumed. The heat threatened to strangle me, wrapping around my lungs as her humming wrapped around my mind. The room began to spin as the delicate ring glittered menacingly by my worn boot. Fingers clenched into fists and pain lanced through my hand as I dug my nails into my palm. Breathe in. Breathe out. I bent low to scoop it up.

“Hey,” a voice called out, gravel crunching in the driveway.

In one motion, I snatched the ring and stuffed it into my pocket. I turned. John stood there, waving. Or Adam. I never cared to get their names straight. She’d always invited the neighbors over. I’d just nod along, downing drinks to dull their droning at dinner.

“Hey,” I said, as I grabbed the last box in the garage and loaded it into the truck, closing the bed behind it.

“Are you moving?” He asked, motioning to the loaded truck.

“Yup.” I moved to close the garage door, forcing him to take a step back. But the discarded box caught my eye. The keepsakes spilled across the floor like an argument that never ended. I stilled, clenching my eyes shut. Don’t look.

But I did.

She was perched on the workbench once more, smiling sweetly. Captivating. Maddening. Still unchanged despite the chaos I’d been thrust in.

I yanked the garage door closed with all my weight. The metal screeched, clawing at shuttered memories in my mind like nails against my skull. Her head tilted at me, curious, but silent. I locked eyes with her one last time as the darkness swallowed her whole.

I wiped my palms on my jeans and turned toward him. He shifted under my gaze.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. I gave a curt nod, then caught myself. With a heavy sigh, I leaned against the truck, folding my arms across my chest and staring down at my work boots.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“She was a good person,” he said, voice thick. When I looked up I saw the tears pricking in his eyes. “And people… they’re quick to find someone to blame. A reason for what happened.”

I nodded, the motion more out of habit than belief.

He looked toward the sky, bright and blue, as if the world itself had already forgotten it was supposed to be grieving. “I just pray they find her,” He said quieter now, “so you can find some peace.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t meant to hold. “Peace would be nice to find.”

He nodded as if that settled it. “Well, safe travels,” he extended his hand toward me. I grasped it firmly.

“And if you ever want to come back-”

“I won’t.”

I dropped his hand and climbed into the truck. He waved as I pulled out as if this was some cheery send-off. I glanced at the house in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see her standing there.

But she wasn’t.

Of course she wasn’t.

I clicked the turn signal on as I stopped at the red light. The mechanical ticking lulled me into a daze once more. The sun blazed through the window, warming my jeans.

That’s when it started.

Soft and low. Subtle at first, like an itch that I wasn’t sure I was ready to scratch. But once I recognized that haunting melody, it was impossible to ignore. Her humming filled every crack and crevice in the truck. In my mind. In my heart. Snatching the breath from my lungs as it swelled louder and louder. Her ring burned a hole in my pocket, etching an accusation into my skin.

One I’d never be able to clean away.