on bagels, breadboxes and laundry baskets.
January 4, 2012
The bagels were still where I hurriedly left them.
They were in their bag in the middle of the counter by the sink. Nothing belongs in the middle of my counter. The box of baby wipes was still empty since I had used the last one on the dogs’ feet last Wednesday. The box top was purposefully left open, so it would be known that it needed replacing. Over a week’s worth of mail sat in a clumsy pile on the kitchen table next to a basket of laundry. Laundry does not belong in the middle of my kitchen. I knew all the bills that were probably in that pile had been paid, but he did not.
You’re back, he said sleepy-eyed.
There’s some paperwork I needed for the refinancing.
To put it in your name? he asked.
I nodded, And I wanted to check on the dogs.
They bounced on my toes and knocked over my suitcase – my dogs, that is. I let them smell the unfamiliarity and newness on me as I watched him ascend the stairs to go back to bed. I knew it was after midnight but the clock on the stove was still blinking 2:46pm from the windstorm that blew through the day after I left the house. It did not feel like mine anymore but I needed to try to reclaim it, to take something for myself since he never took care of anything I gave him anyway. I was going to take the toothpaste, shampoo and spare panties out of my car’s trunk and put the bagels back in the breadbox. I knew I’d somehow find home again, with someone else perhaps. But I wondered how he was going to fare without me.