Overshadowed

We just want to get away from it all. I remember reciting this script to nearly all of our friends who would never understand our sudden exodus from the city. It felt like such a simple decision at the time. A four bedroom brick house atop a hill to overlook the sprawling fields. The idea of sitting together on the back porch basking in the sunrise felt like an escape from our dim apartment. The prospect of owning our own little piece of sanctuary brought us so much joy. It spanned over two acres of what was once farmland. Despite our inexperience, I had relished the thought that I could bring forth my own garden; however, nothing would grow here. 

I remember the early days so vividly. We planned every detail of the house from the renovations to the decor. The extra bedrooms would obviously be future nurseries. The kitchen was stocked with gadgets and tools that he vowed to learn how to use. We even found this beautiful mirror deep in the basement. Sadly, the years did not obey our envisions. The bedrooms became graveyards for Christmas decorations we rarely remembered to put out. The kitchen gadgets never left their boxes and the mirror had long since been shattered on a particularly dark evening in our country home. 

We wanted to bring in the sun, but, in doing so, we let in the shadows. I had been watching them for awhile. They snuck in slowly and then all at once. Hiding at first—they remained protected behind our old claw tub or underneath the hand built mantle. Then, without reserve, they traced our hallways and ceilings. Bold reminders I could do nothing to stop them. I feared them once upon a time, the shadows, but now I had become so completely numb. To me, they started to feel more commonplace than an ominous sign. 

Tonight felt no different. I sat at our kitchen table with my glass of wine, staring at our piece of unforgiving land. The last orange rays of our sun dripped onto the stack of legal papers beside me. Beyond the table, I saw them, they crawled audaciously on our handpicked stone tile. They constantly crept forward racing towards my ankles, but tonight I did not feel the urge to flee them. 

When we looked at the house, I remember all the warnings our realtor, Shirley, told us. The gutters needed replaced, the shed hardly passed the inspection, and the basement once had a flood. They felt like such easy fixes. We could hire someone for all that, he reassured me. I agreed and the house was ours. But Shirley did not tell us everything. She did not warn us that the darkness we fled in the city would find us here too. It was not a sanctuary from the nightfall that befell us in our old home. Instead, the country house was just an extension of it. 

We were so distracted the first couple of years. The wall of windows in our kitchen would light every morning in a way so foreign to us, we never saw the shadows coming.  We were so certain we successfully outran the dusk that we forgot to watch for the sunset. I now cannot even remember when they did not haunt our lives. Was it the time we had our neighbors over for a game night? Or perhaps when my mother visited and brought homemade cookies? No, even those great days were tainted by the magnifying bleak. 

I took a long sip of my wine, remembering the winter night when the trees were barren under a blanket of snow. That night, I paced in worry as he had not arrived home at his usual time. I started to consider the worst when he finally showed. He told me he had gotten stuck at work... or something. I cannot recall his whole reasoning because I suddenly became distracted. Right past his shoulder, on the wall we kept our china cabinet, a shadow had formed. My eyes transfixed on its vile tentacles stretched over our delicate dishware. My apparent unease caused him to turn and face the unknown. I expected him to shout or pull me away from it, but instead he barely reacted. It was just a shadow, he told me as if I had been staring at a mere frightening photo. His words did little to comfort me and only emboldened my terror. I hoped it would soon leave, but I could not have predicted this mass would become my permanent distraction. 

I seldom brought it up for, while ominous, the wall seemed relatively benign. I measured every day to be certain it remained unchanged. However, as his work days grew, so too did the shadow. I wondered how large it would get or if it would ever dissipate. Then, one night he did not come home. While he was gone, it grew exponentially. The mass suddenly felt malicious. I stayed up all night staring at it, fearful it would smear our whole home. When he finally arrived the next morning, he was completely oblivious to the darkness. When I confronted him about my fears, he brushed them off. He pointed towards all the areas of our house that were soaked in the light. He could not understand why I worried about a wall of shadow in a house of sun. 

As the years passed, I tried to focus on the light. An easy feat at first, but as the darkness grew so too did my concern. Based on his reaction, I believed only I could see the wall dipped in ink; however, it became evident others were aware. Our neighbors stopped coming over for game nights and my mother, when she did visit, was visibly uncomfortable by the shadow I could no longer hide. Some days I wished for its disappearance; others I prayed for it to encapsulate me completely. I started to make excuses for it. I blamed it on our windows or my lack of lamps. I wanted to pretend a little longer that our country home blissfully sat saturated in sunshine. 

I think I would have kept this going for decades. Playing pretend felt natural. Everything changed though, four days ago. He came home at noon after being away for several weeks. That is when I saw it. Despite the bright daylight, his face was soaked in the darkness. As usual, he tried to explain himself, but my ears rang with alarm. For the first time in seven years, I saw the truth. No amount of sun could salvage him. 

I twirled the glass in my fingers. I had known the decisions ahead of me for quite some time, but I had always wished we could banish the night, together, from the comfort of our sunlit home. I looked down again at the shadows which now imprisoned my legs. In just moments, I would be soaked in their presence. I will let them drown me tonight. For I take comfort in knowing that as terrifying as the shadows are, they will only last until the sunrises again tomorrow. With that knowledge, I signed the papers.