That's All

Three Days Alone

When my limbs started obeying the commands of my brain, and I had wiped the cruddy gunk out of the corner of my eyes, I managed to drag my limp body back off the ground and onto the couch . It was surprisingly cushy and warm, due to my incessant writhing in my sleep, but I forced myself to stay upright and survey my surroundings instead of fall back asleep. Although the night before I had wanted nothing more than to disappear myself away, I was almost relieved to find that I hadn't reappeared in yet another terrestrial setting. I scanned the living room for any disturbances. There wasn't much to see that i hadn't already scrutinized to the very last detail. The same front door was locked, the same dark hallway stood empty and lonely, and the same flat screen was anchored in front of the same cluttered coffee table. But amidst the used tissues and red Solo cups strewn across the table top, I almost missed the tiny note scribbled hastily on a piece of notebook paper that read

"Dear Lindsey or Lindsy or Lyndzy, I hope you know that I am taking a great risk of keeping a random hobo child around my unwatched house, because for all I know you could be a freakin murder tank.. BUT, since I'm a nice person, I'll let you have some cereal. Soy milk is in the fridge (I have trouble with lactose, okay?) But don't touch anything else please, I don't want to get your cooties on it. I'll be home around noon. Cordially, Mikah"

My immediate thought was "Cordially... he really used 'Cordially'..?"

I reread the note probably fifteen times before it sunk in that sooner or later I'd actually have to get up and physically put the cereal in my mouth to fill my stomach and not just day dream about it. So, slowly but surely, I commanded my legs to move toward the dinky kitchen that Mikah so humbly offered to meet my needs.

•••

It was exactly 12:01 when I heard the familiar sound of keys jingling around in the key hole to Mikah's front door. It was day three of my solitary confinement to this prison house, and I was getting sick and tired of doing nothing but sit around, breath air, eat cereal and pretend I didn't exist. Every day was the same routine; I'd piddle around for hours in the morning, then Mikah would come home at noon, make himself a sandwich bulging with lettuce and smelling of vinegar, carry it to his room, and proceed to lock the door and play guitar for the rest of the evening. Every time he passed the couch where I sat anchored and immovable, he'd glance my way and I could hear his faint thoughts. But these instances only lasted seconds, and I learned nothing of what he was thinking.

The first two days I devoted to snooping. I checked every inch of the perimeter, every nook and cranny. I never had a specific item in mind that I wanted to find, I just knew that I wanted to see everything. Further inspection of Mikah's cramped closet revealed a case full of vintage records, an apparent obsession with bow ties and a serious lack of organization. Upon examination of the hall closet, I found faded Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bed sheets as soft as a cloud, but so worn with holes that it almost fell apart in your hands. After jumping on the bed and strumming the guitars for a while I decided that I wouldn't invade anymore privacy than I already had, but shear boredom drove me to explore elsewhere. (And let me be the first to say that although you can tell a lot about a person from their sock drawer, it is a place better left unseen.) 48 hours I consumed with this pass time. The third day, however, was my breaking point.