“so, what do you think of the place?” i ask the question with some trepidation, knowing it is, at best, humble by the world’s considerations. “i love it. it really reflects where you are in life.” he replied.
i squirmed inside for the multiple meanings possible in that statement. it was impossible to ask for clarification without looking hungry for acceptance. i still wasn’t ready to be honest about it. so i let it rest and moved along.
“well, it’s not finished. i’m hoping to add a bit more in the back room. until then, i just pretend that i have it that way on purpose. most people aren’t rude enough to disagree with a direct statement.” he chuckled in reply and whispered, “most people haven’t actually stood here, have they?”
damn, he was sharp. i actually flinched from the cruelty and wondered why i’d brought him here. i mean, i knew why i’d brought him here, but now that he was here, i found myself curiously angry for how he cut at everything about me. this was not how it was supposed to go. i decided to try again, “it’s not that bad. i mean, it’s clean and tidy, and the place itself is cozy and peaceful.”
there was a distinct sneer to his reply, “is this what you tell yourself to try and keep it together?” he didn’t even wait for my reply, just kept on going, “gods, look at you. your place is like a mirror — front room all tidy and presentable, back room empty and cold.”
i could feel the tears stinging my eyes as i stuttered, “i… you can’t mean you think that’s on purpose. i haven’t be-…. i haven’t been able to afford more just yet. i don’t exactly roll in the dough.” his lash was instant, “really?” i could almost hear his mental sweep of the front room, “even at thrift store prices, there’s easily enough in this room to cover the cost of a bed.” i felt myself getting defensive, couldn’t help it, “i wanted there to be somewhere for people to sit when they visited.” his bark of laughter was ugly, “yes, for all those lovely friends who visit.” i cringed and looked at the floor and said nothing.
he sighed as if recognizing something, “hey, look, i’m sorry. i’d like to say i’m surprised, but you have to know i’m not.” i nodded in the quiet of the pause and he continued, “don’t you have any family to stay with while you get things together?” i shook my head and silently berated myself for the tears that were slipping down my cheeks, “i’m not going to get things together. it’s been eight years. kind of obvious, you know.”
“hey…. hey now,” his voice softened, “you brought me here to make it right, didn’t you?” at my nod, he whispered, “you do know i can’t make this right, don’t you?” again, i nodded and hiccuped through my tears, “how could you? there’s no going home.” he said sadly, “especially when you’ve never had one.”
“i didn’t bring you here to see if you could help me find home,” i brushed the tears from my face angrily, “i brought you here because i want you to help me find the way to not care if i ever find home.” his voice was soothing, almost gentle, like his arms were around me, “i know, i know. it’s ok. shush now, it’s alright.”
i was holding him now, touching him. it felt good. he was cool in my hands, surprisingly so. i remembered briefly finding him in the local pawn shop. i hadn’t gone there to find him. i was actually looking for a toaster. somehow, i knew that should be humorous, but it wasn’t.
he was smooth, dressed in two tone, with a mother of pearl inlay on his buckle. when i looked at him, he had a secretive glimmer, like he knew what i was thinking. i could almost laugh for how quickly i made my purchase and how we left together. almost.
he whispered, “are you ready for this?” and i realized that i was shaking. i held him closer a moment, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, “yeah, i think i am.” as the cold edge of him lay upon my wrist, he softly reminded, “down the road, not across the street.”
i sighed, “yes, i remember.”