Daydreaming

The round wooden table in the middle of the kitchen sat empty every night. A green placemat was in the middle under a large white bowl that she had intended to fill with lemons. There were no lemons in the bowl and there was no family or friends to join her at the table.

She stared at the wall across from her and she wished she could feel something, anything other than the breeze from the ceiling fan. Maybe tears would make her feel sad, she couldn’t force any out. She wanted to pound her fists on the table to feel angry but knew that wouldn’t help. That wall, that ugly tan wallpaper with dark green stripes, it should have been ripped down, but instead large pictures of rosemary, thyme and mint were hung over it. Hatred, could she feel hatred for the wallpaper, no she didn’t even hate it, it was just there behind those pictures. Her body felt weighted down, she was unable or unwilling to lift herself off the chair. Brown bangs that landed right above her brown eyebrows tickled her forehead as the fan swished above her. The distinctive sound of Dog Day Cicadas came from the void behind a screen door, and she slowly began to move her stocking feet forward and backwards smoothly across the beige tile floor, searching her mind for memories. The death of all she loved, it could have been a fire that took them, drowning in a horrific boating accident, a masked man wielding a gun that shot each one at point blank range, it really didn’t matter, they were gone, and she couldn’t remember their faces. Relief, she supposed she felt relief that she barely remembered them, remembered their smell, their laugh, their voices, their touch.

What did joy feel like and how could she find a way to discover it? A smile began and a forced laugh broke the silence in that small kitchen. The only feeling that provoked was a desire for the quiet. She thought about screaming or even talking to herself but that sounded worse than sitting here in utter silence and emptiness. Her ever-disappearing days at work, could she find any satisfaction in those wasted hours? She dropped her head on her hands and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to remember what she did when she clocked in and before she clocked out. Her feet stopped swaying and her head lifted, she smelled food. She hadn’t cooked, or had she? She thought she should get up from this uncomfortable chair that made her body ache, but she stayed there in that wooden chair with green paint peeling off the back and legs. Why would someone paint a chair green, did they think it would be interior design sign of genius? It was a repulsive color and the whole chair should be thrown out.

I quietly backed out of the doorway where I had stood watching her. I could stay in that doorway, staring at her alone at the table, watching her small movements forever. The time spent with her was peaceful, wondering what she was thinking sitting at the quiet table. Her laugh made me envious of her happiness. If I could sit next to her and tell her that life wasn’t that easy, I wouldn’t. I want her to have peace and I wanted that peace with her. She never noticed when I came or left, but each time I walked out of that doorway I felt part of my soul stayed with her. Our daily visits were short now, but I promised myself I would visit more and maybe stay one day.

I opened my eyes, I smelled the chicken casserole I had made with a cheap box of elbow noodles, peas and chicken that came out of can. The black ceiling fan wafted the smell throughout the house, children sat across from me, bright crayons laying on the table. They fought over the brown crayon wrapped in thin paper. I reached over, broke it and handed each one a piece. Sounds of cicadas came in through the screen door that led to the deck lined with potted flowers and a manicured lawn. A deep voice came from a man leaning against the green striped wallpaper as he stared at his cell phone, “I’ve been trying to get your attention, Is dinner ready?” My cell phone vibrated, a text from a colleague wanting money for a coworker’s retirement gift. I got up from the round wooden kitchen table, a green placemat in the middle with a white bowl full of cleverly placed lemons, snagging my sweater on the green paint peeling off the chairs.