Roadkill
DON’T SHOWER UNTIL YOU’RE READY TO GO OUTSIDE!
I wrote this on every wall in my house about a month ago when I was still hopeful that I could trick myself into walking or dragging myself outside; each step a small painful victory. A leggy woman carried her things into the house next door. Was she old or young? No idea, she was too far away. I felt this intense quality about her, even though I was stuck within these 8 walls.
Through the blinds in my kitchen window, I observed her. I watched her garden in her front yard; I would never have been brave enough to actually introduce myself. The woman waved at me, her gardening glove still on. My heart began to clamber, it was trying to get my attention, I shut it down. By the time I finally decided to wave back, she was already inside her home.
My smell started to follow me — stalk me — It was a hungry, funky-smelling, lion. I established this routine where I would watch her through all the windows that looked out toward her house. It didn’t feel creepy when I would do it, but to other people, it may have felt a little off. I turned on the shower, teasing my body and hair that it will be cleaned today, but I was unable to break the promise I made to the walls inside my home; in deep red sharpie. I shut off the water.
She opened the window in her bedroom that looked into mine. Did she see me watching her? Was she going to confront me; an intervention? When I roll up my blinds, the bright sun hit my pale cheeks. She waved at me, I didn’t think about waving back this time, I just did it.
She held up a notebook: “What’s your name?”
I write back on my whiteboard, “Myra, Do you have a name?” She laughed. I think she laughed, I couldn’t hear her, but her face moved toward that direction.
“It’s Anne. Ever go outside?”
“Not really–I’m waiting for the right moment.”
“What do you do in there all day?”
I watch you. “Eat, sleep, the usual stuff.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears. My heart crawled into my throat, I tried to swallow it down, back where it rested, but it declined. Anne went on to write about how she was having a party with all the neighbors tonight and how she wanted me to come.
I watched the party that night, from my kitchen window. My heart remained lodged in my esophagus, unmoving. Nothing I did or said could get it to go down. Maybe I could do this forever? Watch her, from across the way. We’d get married, make love, have our first kid, our second kid, I would get overwhelmed with the smell coming from all my crevices, but it wouldn’t matter because my family wouldn’t be affected by it.
A knock at my door startled me awake from my nap, Anne was at the front door. “Hi Myra, it’s Anne… Want to get coffee?” She yelled. I ducked behind my couch even though all my blinds were down. The acoustics in my throat made my heartbeat echo; I turned on heavy metal so Anne wouldn’t hear. Some breakfast started to slide up my throat like my heart wanted a snack. My smell made it worse. “Maybe not even coffee, just–we should hang out somewhere.” The vomit reached my tongue, I ran to the bathroom and hurled it into the toilet. I sat next to the toilet bowl, trying to catch my breath; I peered back in to assess the damage and there was this Scarlett object in the midst of all the chewed-up food that I couldn’t keep down. I knew what it was, a very tiny piece of my heart. It didn’t want to be in me anymore, it wanted to be out in the world, but was I ready? Was I ready to let it be free? To explore things that I couldn’t keep it from? I flushed the toilet.
The next day, I opened my door, A pink box sat on my front porch. I open it in the middle of my living room, standing — not sitting. It’s the piece of my heart, it was still pumping, someone kept it alive. There was a note on the box, “Please meet me tonight, the house right next to yours — on the right.”
I knocked on her door that night, I don’t fully know why I was here — maybe my stench was controlling me. The air was crisp, my eyes, stinging. She opened the door. Seeing her face made my heart jump back up to my throat.
“Come in,” She said, her voice more masculine than I originally considered. Her home was warm and inviting; I felt warm and invited. Anne walked into her bathroom, she signaled for me to follow. I did as I was told.
“Can you strip for me?” She said in a brusque tone. She stood over a warm, bubbly bathtub, she wanted to bathe me.
“What?”
“You went outside.” I haven’t actually thought that I was just outside, I did it, I kept my promise. It honestly didn’t feel much different than being inside. My nose opened wider and I could smell every part of my body at once. So, I stripped, how she put it, from head to toe and got in the bath. Anne washed my body. We didn’t make it awkward, it was nice, I loved the feeling of being clean.
My heart remained where it has always been; This is where it wants to remain — where we both want to be.
Thank you for reading… If you would like to support this mess, buy me a cup of coffee.
