A Record of Happiness

(This story contains suicide.)

"I told you no. What the hell do you think this is?"

An old man was arguing with someone on the phone.

"For the last time, I'm the landlord, and I decide when that house goes up for sale. Stop asking me when it's getting renovated, it aint gonna get done on your time anyways!"

After hanging up the phone, the landlord took a seat in his armchair, letting out a sigh until the silence was broken by a grandfather clock striking midnight.

"...it's finally that time of the month again, is it?"

Stepping out of his seat, the landlord makes his way upstairs, reaching his bedroom. Upon opening the door, he steps into a room where the walls are covered with hand-held voice recorders, each with a sticky note above them reading a month and a year. Opening a drawer to his desk, the landlord takes out an unmarked voice recorder and a red book resting next to it. With both objects in hand, the landlord exits his house, steps into his car, and drives off into the night while playing the voice recorder.

*

September 1st, 2011. I was just about to call it a day until right at the last minute, I had a couple knocking at my door, wanting to buy the old house I was planning to tear down. I don't remember her husband's name, but I think I remember the wife's name being Martha. You know, it was one thing that they were upfront and paid in cash immediately, the whole house, but there was something that struck me as odd about those two, they looked... looked so happy. They were young, so they probably married recently and were just excited to start living together, but they were also quick to introduce themselves to the neighbors before I drove off. Oh well, I guess it's nice to see some faces full of color move into the neighborhood full of people going crazy over responsibilities.

*

The landlord parks his car in the driveway of an old house, next to another car that was filthy with leaves and grime. Taking his voice recorder and the red book with him, the landlord unlocks the front door, steps into the house, and shuts the door behind him. Turning on the lights, the landlord walks past furniture covered with sheets of plastic and makes his way into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, it was stocked with ingredients that the landlord had begun carrying out and placing onto the kitchen counter. Turning on the stove's oven, the landlord plays his tape recorder again.

*

September 9th, 2011. Martha came today ringing my doorbell. When I opened the door, I was greeted by the kind woman holding a tray of meatloaf, telling me that she made extra. I reached out to take the food off her hands, but she requested if she could step inside and leave it in my kitchen. Why the hell not, I figured. Though I kinda regret it as she kept stopping in her tracks just to tell me how to liven up the place, to make it feel more like a warm home, as she puts it. Once she left the food above the kitchen countertop, she handed me a copy of her recipe, telling me that having more variety when it comes to food makes for a happier life. When I escorted her to the front door, she turned around and eagerly invited me to a barbeque she and her husband were having, claiming that they invited the whole neighborhood too. Jesus, I know that they're good people, but folks don't just throw barbeques out of nowhere with people you hardly know. Ah, what the hell. Free food is free food, I guess.

*

Opening the oven, the landlord pulls out a slightly burned meatloaf. Cutting out a few slices onto a plate resting above the kitchen countertop, the landlord begins to dig in.

*

September 15th, 2011. Well... I made it to the barbeque, but god damn, I knew I wasn't going to expect the whole neighborhood to be here, but to be the only son of a bitch who decided to show up at all. I was beyond uncomfortable for the couple who arranged the barbeque, but they welcomed me with open arms, celebrating like nothing was wrong. I don't think I get these two at all. I don't know if they're just trying to make the most out of the situation or if they really are content with how things are. It's like they don't have a care in the world. Before exiting the house with nearly a week's worth of food, Martha stopped me to give me a hug, thanking me for remembering. Once I made it back home, I honestly didn't know what to feel. The whole experience felt so alien, so artificial. It's just that... the more I'm around those two, the more I start to feel sorry for them, yet for reasons I don't understand yet. Never thought I'd see the day I began to care about the people I sell homes to... maybe it is time to start thinking about how I could liven up the place.

*

Once the landlord finishes his meal, he places leftovers in the fridge before washing his dishes.

*

September 23rd, 2011. Earlier today, I received another invitation from Martha. This time it was to celebrate her husband's birthday. Truth be told, I was happy to see her smile again. Upon arriving at the party, there was music, more meat, alcohol, and a gorgeous-looking cake. Martha told her husband to make a wish before blowing out the candles. After blowing out the candles, he was open and said that he wished for happiness for the both of them. Makes me wish the world had more couples like these two, honestly. Makes me wish my marriage would've lasted as long as I think theirs will.

*

Walking out of the kitchen and into the backyard with his voice recorder and the red book in his hands, the landlord sits down above the back porch, staring back at a pair of tombstones before opening the red book.

*

Sep... Septemb... (sigh) The end of the month. Today I thought I'd personally come over to Martha's to collect payment for utilities and bring a bottle of wine over so that I may share it with her and her husband. Once I arrived, though, so did a police cruiser. Exiting my car, I was greeted by a pair of officers claiming that the residents of this house contacted the police. Fearing for the couple, I quickly opened the door to their home and stepped inside, with the officers following behind me. What I... What I saw was Martha and her husband sitting at the dining table with their heads down, empty shot glasses in their hands... and a bottle of bleach sitting above the table.

Later in the evening, after the house had been taped off, I learned the story behind Martha and her husband from the officers. They were recently married, yes, but strongly against the wishes of both their families. Once it was all said and done, they were both disowned and shunned by their parents, brothers, sisters, all of them. They had no money, no belongings, no future. All they had was each other. Before buying the house, they took out a mortgage, loans for buying a car and furniture, money they could never hope to repay, but now I believe they were never planning to. All this time... they meant to enjoy what little time they had to live like a happy, married couple... before taking their own lives together.

I've been debating what I was going to do with the house and everything the couple used to own until I found a red book, Martha's diary. So she took kept records of her thoughts and experiences, I figured. Seeing as no one else was going to read it now, I thought I'd learn what it was she's been thinking. It turns out she's been writing in her diary since the day she was married, including her acknowledgment that she and her husband were very well on their own from now on. It didn't take many pages until I reached the time when they bought the property when I met them for the first time.

I expected there to be more sorrow and fear of what's to come in these recent entries... but I've found nothing but unadulterated joy in her words as if she treasured every moment she spent in that house with her husband. On top of that, she claims that she was blessed to meet her landlord, believing me to be her only friend this past month. Moving forward, there were no other entries prior to or even mentioning the day of their deaths. Guess she wrote down all she wanted to say before... god damn it.

*

Closing the diary, the landlord stood up from the porch, walked over to the tombstone that read Martha, and rested the red book above the grave.

"Thought you could live a life that's short and sweet, huh? A life with no regrets? ...Well fuck you too, friend." The landlord said as a tear streaked down his cheek.