Pink Room

He stood there again, the bull, statuesque in the pink room with that old wooden door that won’t stay shut. Hoof hitting the floor over and over. Heavy breath turning into a slow fog. Purple dusk of the evening creeping through the windows, purple caressing the beast’s enormous body, perfectly outlined in the dark. “What do you want?” Violet whispered with discontent. She was unsure, for he appeared each night at the same time. He seems to know of her presence but does not come close. Turning away, he saunters outside, back into the brush. Violet watches from the edge of the hall as the door creeps back to a close.

It’s the morning after another visit. Walking towards the kitchen, Violet’s slip catches the splintered break in the wood from the bull, “Goddamn, beast!” she yelled. “Who are you talking to, am I a beast?” Ray asked as he stood in the kitchen brewing coffee. Ray is Violet’s husband, a tall, slender man, well dressed with a southern charm about him that people seemed to swoon over. “That thing was here again.” Violet replied hastily. “Oh, that big bull you keep seeing? You have some imagination, maybe you need to take it easy today. Relax. It was probably just a shadow.” Ray replied laughingly. Violet poured a cup of mud and sat down, rolling her eyes. Ray blows a kiss as he leaves for the day. Catching the kiss and forcefully smiling, Violet decides to sort through some boxes and get some work done. Maybe Ray is right, she thought, maybe she should meet their new neighbors Leonard and Mary Bates, bake one of them good ol’ neighborly cherry pies like you see in the movies. People seem to like that, and it’ll make the house smell nice she thought to herself.

As cherry spice aromas swept through their home, Violet soaked in the tub. She couldn’t help but think how Ray doesn’t understand her. She knew what she saw was real. Convincing herself that it’s an illusion for fear that people will surely believe that she is insane, she sunk further into the bubble filled bathwater. Her father was deemed crazy. Maybe she’d end up in the looney bin just like him and his sister did. Suddenly a loud bang echoed through the stairwell. “Ray, is that you?” she yelled thrusting herself up from the bathwater. No one responds. She hears the bang again, which sounds like echoed footsteps throughout the house. Grabbing her dusty blue housecoat and pinning her hair in a towel, she frantically looks for a weapon. A hammer was left on the floor of the bathroom while they hung some antique mirrors Violet found at a local shop. Violet grabs the hammer, gripping it tightly as she slowly walks towards the door to open it. The loud noises continue to grow louder and louder. Violet opens the door, “Ray? Dammit Ray if that’s you, you better answer me!” She turns the corner and sees a cloud of black smoke coming up the stairs. “Oh my lord, the pie!” she screams as she forgets about the echoes of banging and runs to the kitchen where she grabs the pie from the oven, throwing it into the sink, dousing it in water and beating it with a rag.

Catching her breath, Violet stands in the kitchen, surrounded by a thick cloud of black smoke from her deliciously burnt cherry pie. Throwing her rag on the ground, she realized the loud bangs had stopped. She waited. Nothing. Annoyed, Violet stomped back upstairs in her damp housecoat. As she walks into the bathroom mumbling frustrations to herself, she freezes and stars into the antique mirror. The bull is standing behind her, stomping his hoof over and over. Looking for an escape, Violet tries to outsmart the bull by using the second antique mirror as an optical illusion. Counting in a whisper, Violet begins her escape, “One two three, run!” The bull charges towards her and she slides the mirror into the other one, confusing the bull and she is able to slide through the doorway, down the stairs and outside. Violet stands in front of the new house, screaming in disbelief at her encounters. Ray won’t understand, Violet thinks to herself. This is not real. She decides to go back inside and face her fears, whatever the bull may be representing. Walking into the smell of burnt pie, she yells out to the bull, “whatever you are, go away!” Nothing happens. Violet walks into the kitchen to clean up before Ray gets home.

Things begin to calm, and Violet is almost finished with dinner. She made Ray’s favorite, pot roast, baked potatoes and steamed vegetables. Frank Sinatra played in the distance; the sun began to set. Violet stood by the sink, looking out into the brush glowing in the golden sunlight. The leaves seemed to dance as the wind blew across each one like ripple in water. Mesmerized by the beauty outside, she turned suddenly to a loud knock behind her. The bull appeared, only this time Violet was unable to think quick, for the bull charged towards her.

Ray walks in, “Honey, I’m home!” He dances through the big pink room singing with Frank, and into the kitchen. “Pot roast! My favorite,” he kisses Violet’s cheek and sits across from her. “You outdid yourself honey,” Ray says with a mouthful. Violet stares at him, emotionless, not responding. Ray continues to gorge and stops to ask how her day was. Violet responds, with a dazed look, “that’s nice honey, I’m going to get ready for bed.” Violet kisses Ray and walks towards the stairway. Ray turns, “Violet, are you okay?” Violet responds solemnly and continues to leave the room, “Of course I’m okay, why?” Ray stands slowly with a look of concern as Violet’s foot drags behind her while she climbs the stairs, the loud thump from her deadweight leg echoes through the hall.