The house seems more alive now than it ever had when it was full. Empty rooms echo with life, small reverberations against the edges of my consciousness.
His frame fills the doorway, pupils straining to gather the light.
“This is nice. Babe, look, the closet is huge.”
Sounds fade, the door is closed. I remember the words, but was that really his voice? A flutter in my chest, I quash it. It is his voice. His presence fills my every step as I wander down the hallway, dust motes dancing in my wake.
A knapsack stained from factory floors slouches against the wall. A sigh escapes my grey mouth, but turns to a grunt as I bend to pick it up. My hand pauses in empty air. Of course, there is no knapsack, not anymore. Just a trick of the light, a trick of the synapses firing down old paths full of cobwebs. Hundreds of arguments, strained words, incensed glances ricochet off the walls. Once these echoes would have stung, today they feel like old friends. The memories settle on my breast, like a weighted blanket pressing against me.
Knees cracking loudly in protest, I slump to the floor. Leaning against the wall, I resemble the knapsack that once filled this space. Stained and rough around the edges. The sun-warmed wall supports my head. My pulse quickens, it beats in time with a memory of his fingers pattering on the edge of a chair.
A lither version of myself stands coyly in front of his chair. I peep at him through wispy bangs. The sound of his tapping fingers makes me shy.
“Roger..” I venture.
My shield of hair is no match for the intensity of his gaze. My eyes drop as the corners of my lips quirk upwards.
“Roger, I ‘m pregnant. I took a test. I took two.”
The tapping stops, my breath becomes loud in my ears. Despite a year of marriage, despite knowing he loves me, my eyes stay on my hands, cradling my still flat, expectant belly. It seems like hours, feels like an eternity before I feel his fingers on my chin.
For a moment, the weight of his calloused fingers is as real as the dusty floor beneath me. Happiness fades, leaving only pressure. The floor feels like it’s rising to hold me. My heart is a bird struggling in the wind. My mind flies over time, devours the memories served to it.
The sun is sinking outside. The hallway becomes dimmer, a passageway leading to a threadbare kitchen. Faded curtains above the sink whisper in the breeze. Did the curtains always sound so sad? Surely not.
Soapy pink hands plunge into the warm dish water. A quick flutter of wind dances the curtain into my face. Water splashes everywhere as I swipe it back into place. My budding tummy, still easily mistaken for a too big dinner, is the centre of my whole being. It may be the centre of the entire universe. I surreptitiously touch it between washing a dish, only half aware of the idiosyncrasy.
A tune remembered from my mother spills from lips. It is early, but I have built the future in my mind. I live there more than I do here now. I can hear Roger laughing in another room. His merriment does nothing to pull me from my daydreams. His happiness is fuel for my future.
The melody dies. My lips squeeze into a grimace as a vice clenches deep in my belly. I have barely registered the pain, when a warms stickiness oozes between my legs. I know this feeling. I haven’t felt this in months, I shouldn’t feel it now.
“Roger!” I squeak.
My voice jangles the empty hallway.
“Roger,” I croak into the emptiness. My mind screams there is something wrong. Thoughts shatter midway and the pressure in my chest grows. I sense more than hear a rustle.
“Roger,” a whisper this time.
Dimly my mind recalls a thud, a gurgle, sirens and flashing lights dancing on the walls. A memory of a sad-faced paramedic placing his icy hands on my shoulder. I cannot not comprehend the scene of a stretcher hoisted through the front door. With gritted teeth, I thrust this memory away.
The rustle came from the hall closet. Peeking into the dark recesses of coats and winter boots, a brown ball of wild fur tumbles out, nearly knocking me over. It cavorts around my legs and only stops to lick my face when I drop to my knees.
“Hope, you silly puppy.” I laugh, burying my face into soft fur. Naming this bundle of exuberant joy had been easy. Hope, to fill a void that was threatening to swallow me whole. The disappointment came not once, but many times before I brought the pup home. Neither Roger nor I needed to speak about it. This was something I needed.
Hope dived back into the closet, leaving a series of yips and growls to keep me company. Visions of drool-doused, gnawed sneakers prompt me to action. I reach in, hooking deft fingers around Hope’s collar. The pup wiggles and rails against me. In her excitement, she turns, sinking sharp teeth into my left arm.
Pain radiates through my arm. In waves, the pressure builds in my chest. The only rustle is my feet sliding across the floor in weak kicks.
This home is empty, yet bursting with past lives.
Tension mounts until I am sure I am at the top of a precarious roller-coaster. I dangle at the apex; pain so urgent that all thought flees from it. The heady odour of Roger’s cologne drifts on the breeze. Softly settles around me, comforts me. Torment slips into darkness as a final breath escapes my lips.
The house settles imperceptibly, memories escape on the wind. It grows quiet, cold, awaiting new life to make it a home again.