Alice stood with her coffee in the kitchen. Looking through the window.
Her neighbor’s dog was just pooping on her driveway.
She took her hoodie on and ran out, but there was nobody outside.
She walked to the neighbor’s house and knocked on the door.
He didn’t open.
She had no time to wait any longer. She couldn’t be late at work.
All day she thought about the poop. Practically, she had it with herself. Inside her. In her head.
At 5 pm, she left the office and went home.
The poop was the first thing she thought about, approaching the house.
She entered the garage, grabbed the bag, collected the poop, and looked toward the neighbor’s house.
His car was in the driveway.
She walked to his house and knocked on the door.
He didn’t open.
She left the bag with the poop on his doormat and went home.
She stood with her wine in the kitchen. Looking through the window.
The poop was still on her neighbor’s doormat.
She got pissed.
She could think only about this damn poop.
Which, as a matter of fact, was not on her neighbor’s doormat. It was at her place. With her. Fulfilling her kitchen, her house, her thoughts. Poisoning her from inside. Not her neighbor. HER.
His poop became her poop.
His poop became her.
And she became his poop.
She couldn’t live like that anymore. She stood on the verge.
She gulped her wine, took her hoodie on, and walked across the street. She grasped the bag with a poop from the doormat and threw it to the trash bin.
She went back to the kitchen and poured another glass of wine. Finally, the poop left her. It returned to her neighbor. She closed her eyes and felt free. Like a poopless angel flying over the houses. Suddenly, a doorbell rang.
She opened the door and froze. The neighbor.
“Hey. I’ve just came back from a conference. Nina–the girl from next door–called me this morning. She saw you running out of the house. Everything ok?” Travis seemed concerned.
“Nina stayed with your dog?” Alice asked, looking at him.
“No, my mom took Buggy to her place. I’ll bring him tomorrow. What’s wrong, Alice?”
“Uhm… nothing. I… I’ve had a shitty day today.” She smiled. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
...
TRIFLES are short pieces of writing to make you slow and think for a moment. Or longer.
About the Creator
Nana Marie
NYC flaneur, wine professional, writer, and artist. Author of PICPOUL: blog about modern flaneuring, living in NYC, drinking wine, and being happy: www.picpoulnyc.com
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