Exposures

He switched the bouquet of red roses from his right hand to the crease of his left inside arm while juggling the bottle of wine in his left hand. He reached into his right pants pocket for his keys. The jingle of his keys was the only sound that broke the silent November night as he located the correct key and stuck it in the door lock. He opened the door and entered.

“Honey, I’m home!” he announced. That was their favorite line whenever either one came into the house.

Silence met him.

She always got home before him on Fridays and whenever she was there, she always had the television on. Not only was the television not on, but it was also not on his entertainment stand. They had moved his small television to their bedroom. She had bought the larger set that had barely fit in the space he made for it on his entertainment center shelf.

He closed the door behind him and looked about the living room. Something else was different. His eyes searched the room. The colorful Mardi Gras poster on the wall closest to the kitchen entrance was gone. The clock he had given her on her birthday last month was no longer sitting on the table by the sofa.

He placed the flowers and wine bottle on the table by the front door and walked down the hallway to their bedroom where he found the door open. He entered the room. The closet doors and the dresser drawers were open and empty of all her things.

His eyes caught sight of a folded yellow piece of paper on the table by the bed. He walked over to the table and picked up the note. He briefly read the familiar handwriting. “You can’t afford the things I need anymore. I found someone better. Bye.”

His face contorted into a menacing frown as he balled up the note and threw it with force toward the wall next to the bedroom door. He got no satisfaction from the barely audible sound that came from the paper hitting the wall. After mumbling a few expletives, he tugged off his leather jacket and flung it on the bed.

He had assumed that she had parked in the garage next to his vintage 1965 Ford Mustang convertible. He gave her his other space while he parked his 2000 Chevy Malibu out front.

He left the bedroom and went to the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, and pulled a frozen dinner from the freezer. He sat the beer on the counter and abruptly pulled the meal from its box, opened the microwave, shoved the meal in, slammed the door, set the timer, and pressed start.

He grabbed his beer again and walked into the living room where he sat in his recliner. After opening the beer bottle, he picked up the remote for his stereo system. He hit the power button followed by the play button. It didn’t matter what CD was in the system. He turned the volume up high and waited for the music to start. Bob Marley’s No Woman, No Cry blasted from the system.

He hadn’t seen this break-up coming. They had been getting along well during their six months of living together. He had met Patricia at a bar on the beach. They had dated for two months before she had moved in with him.

Patricia worked as a bank teller and made good money. Between the two of them, they made enough to live comfortably in the house off Scenic Highway. Sure, she always wanted to eat at expensive restaurants and go shopping for herself all the time, but he rarely complained about paying most of the bills.

As he sipped his beer, he thought of the discussion they had that morning about going to New Orleans for the weekend. She didn’t work on the weekends, but he did. He couldn’t just take time off without giving his boss at least a month’s advance notice. She didn’t understand and wanted him to call in sick. He said that he was never sick, and his boss would question him. He just didn’t want to do it. If she could wait a couple of weeks, they would be able to go. Her answer was “whatever.” He left the house for work that morning with the intent of making up with her when he got home. The flowers and wine were his way of making amends. He had made reservations at their favorite restaurant in hopes that she would give up her usual Friday night girls out party.

What a waste of money and time.

The microwave chimed.

He didn’t move from his chair. His beer bottle, almost empty, hung loosely between his thumb and first two fingers of his left hand which was draped over the chair arm. The next song coming from his stereo made him tense up.

Michael Bolton’s version When A Man Loves A Woman was his last girlfriend’s favorite song. He had forgotten that he had taken that CD from her. A little souvenir, he told himself, of their relationship that ended with her strangled body left in her new apartment for her landlord to find. He laughed at the memory.

He looked at his watch. It was almost seven. He knew where Patricia was at that moment. It was girls’ night out, so she was at O’Shay’s with her co-workers. He might not know where she moved, but he had no worries. He would find her.

He looked at the bookshelves next to the entertainment stand and at the volume of classics. He set his beer on the table by his chair, stood, and went to the bookshelf. He reached for Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew and pulled it down. He carried the book back to his chair where he again sat. He opened the book, which was not a book, but an empty box made to look like a book. He stared at the collection of jewelry he had accumulated over the years. There were rings, necklaces, bracelets and single earrings. He ran his hands over a few of the items.

He closed the faux book, leaving it resting in his lap and picked up the remote for the stereo. He pushed the volume button until sound filled the whole house. He picked up his beer and finished it off.

He set his beer bottle on the table by his chair, closed his eyes, and raised his arms. He listened to the rhythm of the drums in the song now playing and began pretending that he was conducting the music with wide sweeps of his arms. Life was beautiful in his own little world, in his own little house, in the fall of the year.