Exercise #7 - Stuart Ste. Croix

Ben could hear her inside, the clatter of glass and shuffling of her feet. He knocked again, louder this time, then took a step back and waited. There was music playing, but he wasn’t sure if was coming from her apartment or the neighbors. The hall was empty and Ben looked from side to side at the long row of doors, the stairwells on either side leading to the ground floor. He knew she was home, she had buzzed him up less than a minute ago, said she had been expecting him. It may have been the way her voice carried through the intercom, but outside of the electric buzz, he thought she sounded happy. Excited. But then again, it could also have been transformed in the distance it took to travel from her apartment to the front door. Or maybe it didn’t sound that way at all. Maybe he heard what he wanted to hear, or had rung the wrong button and spoken to someone else entirely.

He wondered about this, at being let in by a stranger and waiting outside the door to her empty apartment. But no, he could hear her. The clanging of dishes and her slipper against the linoleum. Moving toward again, he raised his fist but stopped, rested his knuckles against the wood and placed his ear to the door. There was another sound, a quieter one that was almost masked under the more abrupt ones. It sounded like humming. Or crying. It was uneven and fluctuated between high pitches and low moans. A wet nasal sound.

He knocked again and began to shake the doorknob. He began to call out to her, his fist slamming harder, slitting the skin on his knuckles. There was the sound of glass hitting the floor, quickly followed by a hiss of “oh shit.” The shuffling grew louder as it moved from the kitchen, across the living room rug and to the front door, where it stopped.

Ben could feel her staring at him through the peep hole, and he took another step back, shoving his hands into his back pockets. But the door didn’t open. He smiled wide, but his eyes flittered from side to side, uncomfortable at being watched by someone he couldn’t see. Everything was quite, even the music he had thought he had heard had stopped. All he could hear was the low buzz of the overhead lights and the faint ticking of his watch, muffled under the cuff of this sweater. That and her breathing on the other side of the door. He was about to say something, but as he began to he was interrupted by the metallic sound of the lock being clicked and the creak of the door as it slowly creaked open. But it didn’t open all the way and before Ben could say anything, he once again heard the shuffling of her feet as they moved back to the kitchen.

The apartment smelled like fresh cotton and honey. He had never seen the place so clean before. The window shades were drawn and the bright light filled the room, giving it an almost angelic quality. The rug looked like it had been washed and the furniture, which consisted of two love seats, recliner and glass coffee table, had been rearranged. Before, where they had all faced the TV, they were now facing the front door.

“Take off your shoes.” She sounded cold and distant and Ben pulled his eyes away from the room and looked toward the kitchen where the banging had continued. He didn’t know what he had expected her to say. In fact, he wasn’t expecting her to say anything at all. Just a tight hug and the feeling of her hot tears against his face. Emotion. His eyes drifted to his shoes, the shoes he had been wearing for over two years. They were dirty and torn, the black canvas faded to navy blue. But in this moment they looked out of place, as if they belonged on someone else’s feet. He bent down to untied them and felt as if it were the first time he had ever seen them.

“I just vacuumed and I don’t want any dirt tracked in.”

He placed them to the side of the door and moved toward the kitchen where she had removed all the dished from the cupboards and stacked them on the counter. She was bent over, picking a broken plate up from the floor. She looked fine. Tired maybe, but fine.

“I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing,” he said, moving closer. She didn’t answer and for a moment he thought about getting down on his knees and helping her with the shattered glass. “You didn’t call. I didn’t even know they had let you out until I ran into Davie. He said you’ve been home for the last week.”

“Let me out?” she said quietly. “It’s not like I was being held hostage or anything. I was free to go whenever I wanted. Let me out? Huh.”

“You know what I mean. Why didn’t you call? I’ve been worried.”

She looked up at him and smiled. There was nothing happy or relieving in it. It looked mechanical and rehearsed. Her eyes looked darker too, but Ben thought that maybe had never really looked at them before. That he was trying to see things that weren’t there.

“I’m fine,” she said, and walked over to the trash with a handful of green plate.

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s okay if you’re not. Christ, I know I wouldn’t be.” He extended a hand and walked towards her, but she didn’t seem to notice him. She was staring at the empty cupboards, her lips moving up and down as though they were silently counting. Her hair was down and it looked soft and shiny. She usually wore it back, pulled into a tight pony tail, and it was the first time Ben could remember ever seeing it hanging down in front of her face. Up close he could smell the sweat on her skin, the tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead and neck.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, gently touching her shoulder. She pulled away and leaned back against the counter.

“Sorry,” Ben said, raising both hands and backing away. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I just don’t want to be touched.”

“Do you want to talk about it.”

She turned her eyes down to the floor. “No.”

Ben nodded slowly, a bit disappointed. Her head tilted to the side, away from him. He followed her eyes to the closed door of the bedroom and then back to her face. She looked older than he remembered, but weaker somehow. He could see her small body shaking gently beneath the thin summer dress she was wearing. She was almost attractive and Ben was tempted to grab her by the arm and drag her into the bedroom, throw her to the floor and tear the flowery fabric off her body, taste her salty skin and feel her squirm beneath him. He wanted to hear her yell, to scream, but most of all, her wanted to see her cry.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly. “There’s nothing to be done. Unless you want to help me finish cleaning the insides of these cupboards.”

“Since when have you been the cleaning type?”

“Since they let me out.”