I feel like the last two months, Ive been stuck inside a giant snowglobe…
Me: *Pounds on imaginary glass in the middle of the parking lot, like an insane mime.* “Stupid, giant snowglobe people! Stop turning my life upside down and shaking it, and let me out already!”
(Based off of a dream.)
“I’m going to go check out, sweetie,” I heard a mom tell her four year old daughter at the local craft store as I passed by to look at another aisle of scrapbook stickers.
“Stay right here, and don’t wander off.” The little girl was cute with her brunette pigtails as she held a stuffed doll, staring up at her mother with the biggest child eyes I had ever seen. I smiled, then turned back to my cart to count my items. I wanted to see if I had enough money to get away with buying another set of stickers.
“And don’t go in that room. You’re not allowed in there.”
Glancing up again, I saw the little girl look up at a grey door to her left. The room had three of its outer walls showing, like a large white box in the craft store. Two aisles butted up against it, with only one side of merchandise for each aisle. The other sides, where the dirty white walls of the room in the craft store stood, were left bare.
At the end of each aisle, it was dark and it made the room feel like it was detached from the back wall of the store.
I was pretty sure it was not, though.
The little girl looked back at her mother as she walked off toward the checkout line. I turned away to grab some detailed puppy stickers, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little girl reach for the handle. Spinning around, I brought my buggy with me as I traveled across the aisle to the little girl, and stopped next to the room, which gave me a creepy vibe.
The grey door was just beyond my little blue craft store shopping cart, and so was the little girl. “Don’t open that door.” I told her. She looked up at me, and slowly pulled her hand away as she stared into my eyes. I was about to tell her that her mother told her not to, when I heard the room whisper back.
“Open the door,” It said, quietly, “open the door.”
My body became cold, hearing that voice, and the color drained from my phone. “D-don’t.” I warned the little girl, my heart terrified as it tried to beat its way frantically out of my chest.
She continued to stare, her hand at her side now.
“Do.” The voice whispered again.
I should have taken her right then and there, and brought her to her mother. But, in today’s time, there was a mile long list of names I could be labeled just for telling the child not to do something. Who knew what would happen if I took her anywhere. Even if it was to her mother.
But, I was secretly scared as well. The ghostly female behind the grey door terrified me.
“Don’t go in there,” I repeated, before hurrying off to get in line, leaving the little girl alone, and defenseless.
I did not sit in line very long, neither did her mother who was right in front of me, before stepping away to go back to that room. The room with the grey door at the local craft store.
I could not leave that little girl alone. Leaving my cart, I circled around a few aisles, and heard the door slam just as the dirty white room came into view. The dirty white room at the local craft store.
And then I heard a scream. Rushing over to the room, a few employees got there before I did and one threw open the grey door. The light was on, but it did not make the room any less spooky.
There was a plain, metal framed bed against the wall with the door. A counter extended the entire length of the far wall, with a mirror above it, just as long. Strange symbols and figurines made from sticks and twine adorned the right wall. And a large refrigerator was pushed up against the left wall.
Inside the fridge, because I had to check, were a few jars with strange, unidentifiable things in them, and underneath the fridge, because there was this strange, rotten odor to the room and I had an employee help me roll it forward, was old, dried out spagetti mixed with macaroni, stuck to the floor in the shape of the fridge.
The woman outside would not stop crying. “My baby! My baby! Where’s my baby! Where’s my baby!” And that was when I had had just about enough of this nonsense, with this woman, and her child, and this putrid smelling room at the local craft store.
I still thought it was just nonsense.
I marched out of the room and right up to her, and snapped at her, because I was angry, and terrified, and guilty, and I wanted someone else to take the blame for this. “How dare you! You just left your child in a store and walked away from her. No, I was there! You told her to stand next to that door! That grey door at the local craft store! She’s gone and its all your fault! Do you hear me? All your fault!”
As I was yelling, I watched the woman’s features slowly soften, and then she blinked up at me as she stared.
Finally, when I was through with my rant, she spoke up.
“What child?” She asked.
And then, the woman walked away. I watched her walk away, and collect her bags, and push the little blue craft store shopping cart in the designated little blue craft store return shopping cart area. I watched her leave the store and place her bags in her trunk. And I watched her slam the trunk and get into the driver’s seat.
And then, I watched her drive away.
And all the time, I stood there, next to the room. The room with the grey door and the dirty white walls, with that putrid, rotten smell to it, that was shaped like a box with one side attached to the back wall, so it was not really a box.
It was a room at the room at the local craft store.
“So, I’m going to kill my neighbor,” I spoke up, after staring at the peanut butter jar for twenty seconds.
“Mhm.”
Said peanut butter jar was lifted, a large spoonful of peanut butter was scooped out, then it was set back down.
“I mean it. If she throws her garbage in my trashcan one more time, I am going to kill her.” Pass the peanut butter jar, a blurred-out slice of white bread rested on the counter.
“Mhm.”
Said bread was lifted, a corner crust crumb falling back on the counter, as the spoonful of peanut butter was smeared over the store bought baked product.
“I know it’s her, too. She’s the only one who uses lavender scented trash bags.”
“Of course.”
Sweeping the fallen crumb into my hand, I walked over to garbage can to discover that it was full. With a groaned, I brushed the crumb off my palm and watched it land on top of the trash, then bounce back onto the floor again. “I swear she waits until the middle of the night to throw her garbage out, too. I can spend all evening staring out that window, waiting for her to show up, until I fall asleep. But, it’s always there the next morning.” With a huff, I pulled the bag out of the trash can, and a wave of light flowers filled the kitchen.
“Mhm.” I listened to Connor crunch down on his toast and chew the pieces loudly. Tying the ends together roughly, I struggled to shift the trash down to the bottom so it was easier to carry.
“I mean, what kind of person puts their trash in someone else’s trash can, anyway?” I went over to the sink and searched underneath for the box with the light purple flowers on it.
“Mm?”
“The worst kind, I tell you.” Finding the box, I pulled a fresh bag from it as the kitchen filled with more lightly scented flowers, and shook it open to put in the trashcan.
“Mhm.”
“You know, you could at least try to think of something to say besides, ‘Mhm’.” Slamming the lid back down, I picked up the full trash bag and carried it outside.
While I was gone, Connor simply lifted the empty bottle of generic Donepezil with my name on it, shook the bottle once, then set it back down with a slight smile.
The door opened and slammed as I came inside, exasperated. “That’s it, where’s the shotgun. She’s at it again.”
With another crunch of his toast, my roommate pointed to the empty bottle and spoke with his mouth full, “You missed one.”
“Gee, thanks,” I took a deep breath, then threw my hands up in frustrated. “God, now the whole house smells like freakin’ lavender! I hate lavender!”
Oh! Come to me,
Sweet, decadent black liquid,
That which drives my very soul to momentum
With its intoxicating drug.
Let me drink, and fill me with energy.
For without you,
My very soul shall perish.
That which makes my heart pump,
The very insides that pour from my lips with your desire,
Speak to me.
Tell me not that you shall forsake yourself to others.
Tell me not of what buzzes
That I must cherish.
Tell me for I have ears that listen,
And speak!
Blub, Blub, Blub.
Oh, it speaks!
It’s words mimic the very rhythm of my life,
The very beat of my living muscle!
Speak again, and let me hear you.
Speak! Speaked, spaked, sparked, spiddled,
And cry unto me for you are the very glimmer in my sleepless orbs.
Blub, Blub.
Oh, it speaks again!
But, what is this? Shall I not be Thy only owner and master?
Shall I not be the only one to hoard your precious juices?
You traitor!
There is another?
How dare you!
I shall never share that which beats my very heart!
Blubble.
You cannot deceive me!
I will not allow such conceived lies!
Who? Who!
Wherefore, you have sound to which communication flows through!
Do not hesitate, tell me!
Inform unto me a name.
Any name, so that I may solve this problem.
Blub.
He? She? Please, speak again!
Blub, Blub.
Others? More!
You mean to tell me there are more!
No, I will not stand for such,
Such,
Such ignorant passing of goods!
Never!
Never again will I sip.
Never shall you pass my lips in such an intimate manner!
You are dead to me.
Dead, I say! Dead!
Thou shalt not cry.
For I shall not weep.
We are finished,
And finished are we.
Bridget Bales 