I meant to let it sit there and rot but I couldn’t bring myself to let the impending snow storm take it, or the stupid squirrels.
Bringing it inside, I left it by the door. So there it sits as I work on the house, taking down things from the walls, going over pictures and their frames, packing up the family albums, family heirlooms. There that stupid box sits, right by my boots, mocking me. I refused to open it, not after that… madness with Elm.
Maybe I’d have a peek inside after I’d moved. Or… I could use it for kindling if I run out of firewood. I was getting a little low as we speak.
No matter how much I tried to tell myself I didn’t give a fig, there my gaze went, right back to it.
Packing up Mom’s favorite vase, I set it in a box labeled living room, bubble wrapped to death, and there my gaze went back to that stupid cube of cardboard.
Would my new place have a space for this vase, I wondered, or would it end up stuffed in a closet because my bed is in the living room and my roommate who can afford more rent gets the room with the door?
The idea of my introverted ass sharing space with a stranger, no door, nothing, made me cringe. I could do it if I had to but, man…
A muffled thunk sounded off outside.
Jolted from my thoughts, I shot up and my gaze darted around. What the heck was that?
Having a peek out the front window, then the side one, spying nothing, I shrugged it off to snow falling, turned the record I had playing over to the other side, and kept sorting.
Keep.
Toss because I’ll have no use for it and nowhere to keep it.
Dad’s favorite chores coat hung by the door, right next to Mom’s thicker coat she used when we chopped wood.
I couldn’t get rid of those. I’ll wear them, I decided.
The record finished, and I could claim to packing four boxes. The coats remained on their pegs on the wall by the door.
A longer, loud thunk, followed by a crack, caught my attention. Fully.
The back.
Running to the kitchen, I peered out the window. It was starting to come down out there.
Through the snowfall, starting to thicken as I’d been expecting, I made out a lone figure.
For a moment, if only briefly, I’d thought, insane as it sounds, what is Dad doing out in that?
But he wasn’t here, chopping wood out back.
Throwing the back door open, I stomped out onto the back porch in my owlbear slippers, favorite broken in jeans, andfaded AFI hoodie without thought. “Hey! What do you think you’re-”
The axe came down, crack, splitting another bit of wood. Gathering some of the wood he’d already split up, Cy disappeared around the side of the house. “‘Nough wood inside?” he asked as he rounded the corner to grab another bundle and walk it over to the wood pile.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” My arms folded and my eyebrows shot up. A slippered foot began to tap-tap impatiently. Was he crazy?
Cy paused long enough to snark, “What look like I do? Not make the snowmans.”
At least if he was making a stupid snowman, I could growl at him and not feel a little guilty about it. I mean, the guy was chopping wood for me and putting it away. Why, I had no damn clue, but here we are.
“You know what I mean,” I huffed at him as he passed.
“What you mean?” he quipped as he tossed me a look like he had no clue and would like me to fill him in— total BS— which he proved was bologna by adding a sarcastic wink.
“Are you high?!” I shouted after him.
“Cy say no to the drugs! You? Shout at Cy like Pru on the funny stuff!” he shouted right back from the wood pile.
