(no subject)
She walked down the stairs with a newly empty laundry basket. Another floor away there are still two cycles running. It's part of the many normal sounds that run through the house on a given day. All of the normal ones are there. And one extra. She had been waiting to see if it would stop. If it would come to her.
But it continued. Simple and rushed and agitated. Over and over, where it was. Her steps, toward it, aren't hurried or too careful. She stopped in the hallway, the basket balanced on her hip, as she finally set her eyes on her husband pacing in the hallway outside the darkened, but still open, coat closet. All the details add up too well.
"Are you planning to wear a hole into our floor?" Her words and tone are gentle, meaning a different question than the one she asked, but not giving into the taught emotion that rests underneath it in her, in all of her family, still, right now.
But it continued. Simple and rushed and agitated. Over and over, where it was. Her steps, toward it, aren't hurried or too careful. She stopped in the hallway, the basket balanced on her hip, as she finally set her eyes on her husband pacing in the hallway outside the darkened, but still open, coat closet. All the details add up too well.
"Are you planning to wear a hole into our floor?" Her words and tone are gentle, meaning a different question than the one she asked, but not giving into the taught emotion that rests underneath it in her, in all of her family, still, right now.