28. Sawubona
1,310 words. Approximately 6 minutes, 33 seconds. Audio version here.
Did you know that there are places where you can actually buy and sell houses entirely online? I knew that you could do that with cars (I actually did get my car that way, which is why I'm such an expert), but I had no idea that you could do that with houses. I found out this information, much to my chagrin, from my husband when he informed me that he was selling our house to one of those online places you can apparently sell houses to.
I also found out, further to my chagrin, that these sorts of weird, black-market online house buyers typically are able to close on the house within just days after accepting an offer. Accordingly, I was given little time to prepare for our upcoming move. I believe that this was intentional on my husband's part, naturally. Because I ended up having to spend all of my time whirling around the house like a little tornado and packing up all of our belongings, I didn't really have time to process what this all really meant.
But I can process it now.
When my husband mentioned, some number of weeks ago, just a few days before he told me about the big move, that he wouldn't mind us just being hermits together, living in the middle of nowhere, I told him that sounded nice. And, well, it honestly did sound kind of nice. Getting away from that neighborhood, that dark cloud that's hanging over everything all the time, it sounded good. But I also knew that I needed to stay, since I seem to be the only one that can see that dark cloud. And I never expected that my husband would seriously pick me up from this place where I know everyone and everything and just carry me, kicking and screaming, to some little house in the absolute middle of nowhere.
I'll be honest; there are some nice things about the move. Like, I don't have to worry about that purple house anymore. And, uhm, the landscape surrounding our new home is pretty beautiful, I guess. If you like that sort of thing. My husband put me up in a room where the window overlooks a small stream that goes through the woods. I appreciated that, to some degree. I did find it a bit odd that he referred to it as "my" room instead of "our" room, but honestly thought that was probably just a slip of the tongue.
It is nice to look out of the window here, but I'm really finding myself missing my neighbors, my companions. When I look outside now, I just see that stream and some trees. There are no stories to tell, which drives me up the wall.
There's lots of things not to like about this new place: the lack of neighbors, the fact that my room is on the second floor and I hate having to go up and down the stairs, it's so quiet around here, you name it. My husband says that being closer to nature will do me some good. I don't know what he's talking about.
The thing I hate the most about this new place, though, is the ceilings. I spend a lot of time in bed now; the view outside my window is already stale and I find myself craving stimulation. But I can't find any in this place, most likely by my husband's design, so I'm prone to laying in bed for hours at a time and staring at the ceiling.
It's a textured ceiling. Not popcorn; I don't think I could live with myself if we had popcorn ceilings. No, it's like after they finished the ceiling, they dabbed on some wet plaster, and let it fall and harden in little peaks, like tiny upside-down mountain ranges forming shapes not unlike a child's rendition of a flower, with a central circle surrounded by petals.
I can't stand these flowers. It's like, I'm staring at the ceiling to get away from the nature that parades itself around outside the window of my room. The last thing that I want to see is some flowers right in my face as I'm trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep every night. I know what you're thinking; I could probably scrape the flowers off.
Well, I tried that. I climbed up on my bed and started scraping away at the horrible flowers with my fingernails (since those were the only tools I had on me at the time). I did manage to get a few before my husband found me and made me stop. Just because a few of the little plaster shards got in my eyes and he thought I could have scratched my cornea. What a worry-wart. I tried pleading with him to help me take down the flowers; he knew that they were really bugging me, but he also acted like it wasn't really a big deal. It's so frustrating.
He took away my bed frame then, because he didn't want me climbing up on the bed and "hurting myself" trying to scrape off the flowers again. So now I just have a mattress on the floor. And the most annoying part is that the ceiling is just a bit higher than I can reach when I stand on the mattress, so instead of doing anything about these stupid flowers, all I could do is claw pitifully at the air above my head. And I could sleep. My husband says I should be sleeping, but he also says the flowers aren't a big deal, so who's to say who's right in this situation?
It's certainly not him, though, that's for sure. So mostly I don't sleep. Like I could anyway. The flowers are more than just a bit of decoration, I've been starting to realize. It took me a little bit of time to really come to the answer, what with my husband always distracting me with meals and pills that I always stick under my mattress when he isn't paying attention. The pills make me sleepy, and the last thing I need to be doing right now is sleeping.
I need to be keeping watch over these flowers. You see, I'm understanding more and more about them the more I study them. I can see it, exactly at 2:42 in the morning, when their eyes open.
Yeah… the little circle in the center of the ring of petals isn't just a whatever-it-is in flowers (where their seeds go, yes?), and it's not just a few bits of dripping plaster frozen in time. This house has been watching me. And I think it knows that I've been watching it back.
The eyes, they focus on me when I see them. They don't really feel threatening, I guess. It's just… I think maybe the house is curious. We are probably the first people to live here in a long time, so it doesn't know what to think about me.
I'm curious, too. I've asked my husband to see if he can dig up any books about the history of the town or the house or whatever. I've been careful not to tell him the flowers have eyes. He might not get me the books I want then. He might get a little curious himself and find the pills I've been stashing away. And we certainly can't have that.
But, until I've gotten some more information, I'm quite content to just lay here now and study these ghastly flowers. You know, the more that I think about it, I don't really hate these flowers. In fact, maybe I actually like them a bit. They're like my new neighbors.
I like to wait around until 2:42 in the morning, when the world comes to life, the flowers open their eyes and all focus is on me, and the house, now my only friend, whispers gently across my ears, "We see you."