Intruder

A thump on the glass. A snout pressed against the glass door in my living room. So still that for a moment I think it must’ve died from the impact. I approach the door in a floating motion. I knock on the glass with my fingertips. I hold my breath waiting for a reaction but it doesn’t even flinch. I kneel down next to it and check to see if it’s breathing. The poor thing, is it really dea… A wild jack-in-the-box startles me. I lose my balance and fall on my back. I raise my hands, forgetting for a terrifying instant the translucent barrier that separates us.

Mortified, my self-pity unleashes. Do you see? That’s why he dumped you, because you’re stupid. I crawl to the bedroom and attempt to make the bed. Why are you cleaning up? Why bother? Shrugging, I stride across the room towards the kitchen. A moist chocolate cake – less than a half of it actually – splattered with cream in the fridge. I shoo the guilt away like flies. Who cares? No one left to judge me anymore. No one to look at me, no disgust increasing in his beady, rodent-like eyes.

I gaze at the kitchen clock as if waiting for an oracle to send me off to my next mission. No such luck. Tick tock, taunting time. Eleven in the morning. I sit on the squeaky couch and turn on the television. His favorite news show blasts through. I’m not in the mood for this morbid reportage he found so fascinating. I explore dozens of stations, desperate to fill the dark menacing silence, finally landing on a ridiculous movie, where the heroine suffers and whines for over an hour until, right before the credits start parading across the screen, her problems – puff – disappear like in a nauseating magic trick. To top it off, she manages to seduce a handsome millionaire and there they go, happily ever after into a rose-gold sunset.

Darkness sets in. The plate shines with grease, mourning the pastry that used to be. From the corner of my eyes, I catch a glimpse of the snout, spying. This time accompanied by a set of enormous glassy eyes. I stare at the creature and drag myself to the glass door to scare it away. I notice that half of my rose bushes are gone.

I could trap it, make it pay, finish it off. But it’s all the same anyway. I don’t have to keep a tidy garden anymore. Instead I make an obscene gesture and growl at the thing. Just leave me the hell alone!

I haven’t left the house for two days. Inside, time remains still. The main event? The creature lurking through the glass door. Whenever the fatigue of not doing anything weighs on me, right before drifting away, I am certain it is looking at me. Same thing, as I slide into being awake. I know that the snout will be there, right on the same spot, haunting me, stalking me, annoying but honest, grotesque but real. A presence. Just like he was.

On the morning of day three I roll out of the sofa, hungry, craving something sweet. Desperate, I comb every corner of the kitchen, feeling the depths of the shelves and the fridge. Empty. I panic. The convenience store is only two blocks away, but no, those nosy neighbors. I can’t!

It’s not so much the dread of becoming the punch bag for malicious gossip. No, that’s not it. What raises my pulse, is the thought of inspiring pity. I can just hear them, “it’s never too late to find love, don’t worry dear”,

At first, I ignore the creature, hoping it’ll get tired. But the endless thumps stab my ears. Would you please just leave me alone you wicked beast! But it won’t. The stubborn furry snout keeps at it: bump, bump, bump. Exhausted, I let the covers slide down my face.

I crouch down next to it. A gray mass of fur with long ears, whiskers protruding like silvery rays of moonlight. Its eyes, shiny black pearls. It looks at me.

I surrender to it.

For the first time in several days, I walk down the hall towards the front door. Standing so close to the world on the other side makes me dizzy, afraid. I look at the objects located in a dusty corner, next to the umbrella stand. A cheap basket overflowed with toys and trinkets of his dog. He left in such a hurry! That scumbag, abandoning his beloved Chihuahua belongings. What an idiot!           

I shake my head and rummage through the tiny items. A flashy collar emerges. I toss half of the basket contents and find the matching fuchsia leash with sparkling rhinestones. I can still remember when he bought the ludicrous set. Oh, how he ran home practically drooling to put it on his baby. I laugh hysterically. I laugh until my cheeks ache, until my throat is sore.

I stretch out my body and go back to the living room. My face relaxes from all the laughing, I exchange a conspiratorial look with my tiny intruder.

Why, hello there! It’s so nice to finally meet you.

Fifteen minutes later, the rabbit and I walk down the street. The fuchsia leash sways cheerfully each time the spongy figure hops. A wave of whispers rises behind us, rippling through my body, tickling me. Yes, they stare at me, my astonished neighbors, but the looks are of surprise, disapproval. Fear. I do not catch even a tiniest glimpse of pity. Eagerly, I think about the luscious cakes and sweets I will purchase. The two bottles of wine, some cheese, bread, and – why not – some well-deserved fruits and vegetables for my new roommate.

Just five more hops and we will be at the store.