priorities-2

28

Home hasn't started feeling like home yet. Furniture is sparse in all of our rooms,none of it picked out by your's truly and I hardly ever talk to Carrie or my parents. Isneak out when John is exercising to put my stamp on our place and check out the localshops for decorative pieces to scatter throughout our place.A shop yielding decorative posters and rock memorabilia catches my eye, it'sdifferent from the Florida shops directed to the senior population that seem to live in ourneighbourhood.I get all excited and push the door open embracing the smell of incense that firsthits you as you walk in. 

A bell rings telling the salesman someone's entered his shop. Iacknowledge him by directing my gaze at him, before I become engrossed in all hisknick knacks that are hung from the ceiling, hidden away on overfilled counters. I'veinvested well over twenty minutes in the store when a wave of austerity hits me. I'vestumbled into a cheaply framed poster of Slasher singing to me onstage. I flash back tothe crowded concerts, the songs we sang, the cheering of the fans. 

 "Lady, are you okay?" The attendant asks me out of concern. It takes a while todawn on me he's addressing me, as I'm the only one in the store. "Lady?" He repeats."Uh ya," and I know I can't leave his store without this poster. I wedge it free fromthe others and approach the register. He rings it in and announces the price to me whichis irrelevant, it could be every penny I have it's still coming home with me. 

The ownerof the store doesn't make the association that I AM the girl on the poster, he's just happyhe's removed another item off his shelf, it must be difficult maintaining a profitablebusiness, when the majority of the patrons here are in their seventies, he would havebeen wiser selling various undergarments that stop them from soiling themselves. 

With mixed emotion I carefully place my new acquisition in the back seat of John'scar as I head back to our humble home. I find him in the kitchen preparing his lunchwhen I bring the bag inside, "What did you buy this time?" He asks.I whipped it from the bag and displayed it in the air for him to admire, "What doyou think?""Really?" He smiles. "Kind of narcissistic don't you think?""It's a keepsake from an amazing time in my life," I say defensively

"You should be looking forward, thinking about what you want to do next," headvises like I've never considered that. I start walking around the living room lookingfor places to hang it."You're not hanging it in here," he complains. Offended, I start walking to ourbedroom, "Or there!" He says."Why not? It's my place too, I live here now with you.""You can keep it in a closet and take it out to look at it whenever you want, but I'mnot letting you hang it on our walls. It's so, it's so childish."I go to the fireplace and start collecting his hockey photo's and medals, "I guessthese are childish and narcissistic too!""Stop," he says defensively, all up in my face. He tries taking them from me andwe're struggling until one falls and crashes on the floor, "Look what you've done!" Hegrowls. 

"That's when I got called up!" Then he's gone, storming from our place. I'venever seen him that angry before, and he's got a game tonight.I chose my spot, the front entrance, finding a beam to ensure sturdiness, I hammermy anchor into the wall, ensuring it's straight, ahh! I'm happy. Every time I come home,it's the first thing I'm going to see. I change into my swimsuit and go into the back for abit of rest and relaxation. I drift off to a happy place, the late afternoon sun beating downon me, my damp suit drying, when I hear the door. 

He's back, "Hi John," I call out, "I'mback here."H doesn't join me, I hear wrestling around, "Aren't you coming to the game?" heasks, collecting his stuff.Still groggy, I remove my shades and rub my eyes, "You don't mind if I sit this oneout do you?" I ask. Now most of the time, I do go, so I'm sure he's not going to have aproblem with it."Why aren't you coming, what have you been doing all day?" he asks."I'm just tired, I think it's the sun," I complain."I hope it's not going to be like this all the time," he gripes. 

"Really? I can't have a quiet day?""Whatever," he ends it. He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder when I'mwalking back in from outside, "I'll see you later!"That's when his bag hits my poster and it too goes crashing to the ground, "You didthat on purpose," I accuse.

"No I didn't," he says, "I don't have time to argue with you," he opens the door andslams it behind him. It's the first time we've fought since reuniting. I pick up the shardsof glass with the torn photo of a time in my life I'm proud of and I promise myself, it'snot going to be the only amazing time in my life and he's never going to knock me downwhen that time ever comes.I dry off, and watch the Florida game on t.v. in the comfort of my living room.They manage to beat Toronto and he comes home victorious