It Rarely Snows in Portland

The room was largely empty. It was never that full. Not even in the better days. A television and its digital converting companion sat silently on some disposable IKEA furniture. A blue air mattress had been inflated and lay against the opposing wall like a small break in the white clouds. They were bare, there hadn’t been enough time to find the art that would have to have been removed when he left. Outside the snow fell quietly in the courtyard. The second grey building of the apartment complex was the only view from the window.

When the alarm went off, the man stirred and kicked off the blankets. There were three and he’d made the mistake of washing and drying them all. He didn’t know what they were made of and hadn’t thought to consult the tag for the proper care procedures. As a result, the blankets left little tufts of white and cream on any cloth they contacted. His pajamas had been through another blizzard last night. He sat up and looked outside and was thankful for the roof over his head even though he disliked the emptiness that lay beneath. Why had he left? Should he have done more to try to talk him into staying? Why couldn’t he ever seem to get out of the way of himself? Did everything that was good always have to be so fleeting? He stopped himself there. He didn’t like when he started thinking about life through the prism of some lyric from a song. He felt like he should have better clichés to use in his wallowing. He didn’t though, and that bothered him.

When he had moved here, everyone he talked to was tip-toeing past the graveyard and holding their breath. “Slowing down? No, so far so good.” Or, “we seem to have dodged the bullet up to this point.” That was then, but somewhere along the way, when he wasn’t paying attention, when he was busy falling in love, the lead found its target. He’d received his notice. The weekly pay ended and so did the solace of work. As long as he had had that, he didn’t have to be by himself so much. It hadn’t been so bad. He didn’t have to dwell on it. He didn’t have to realize it was all ending. Everything was wrapping up so nicely except he didn’t want what was on the inside.

He walked to the kitchen and assembled what he needed for breakfast. The pan was soon frying. The toaster busied itself with the task at hand. The refrigerator had been humming since he’d closed the door. Everything was doing what it was meant to do. The man sat and waited. His thoughts passed beyond concentration on the food and meandered to her. She was still here. It occurred to him that this whole time he’d been falling in love with two. Two, and she hadn’t left. Only he did and when he packed up the car that early morning and had driven off, well he’d departed with the future of all three of them in tow.

He couldn’t enjoy his breakfast. He kept wishing that things were different, that he could be different. He could make this work with just two. Just she and I. It was so simple and yet he spent so much time dwelling on it. He was aware of the growing exasperation but got distracted because he started thinking about Dylan and he found himself smiling, in spite of himself.