Harrison Avenue // H.S.

Ellison Explosion

[Harry]

It's like she's everywhere.

Little pieces of Ellison strung about in her chaotic, perfect way.

Over these last couple years of living with Elle, it's turned into something like this. She makes a stack of books so high that it's almost as tall as me, only growing until I finally move them onto the bookshelf that is inches away from the tower she created. She lines pieces of art on the floor, propped against the wall and then stares at the wall, huffing and puffing until I ask if she wants me to hang them up for her. (This always earns a "no, Harry. I'm perfectly capable of using a hammer and level on my own," and then I turn into the spotter to make sure it isn't crooked.) And she'll buy plants from the market a few buildings over, stick them in the windows and think that it is magic they live considering she never waters them... they live because I water them for her.

It's like she's everywhere.

Because it isn't Harry and Ellison as separate entities anymore, our belongings don't go in separate drawers or have designated places to sit on their own. It's HarryandEllison, everything just as much mine as it is hers. And she's everywhere.

Our apartment is currently an explosion of her. There's a painted canvas that the front door hits as I try to make my way inside which feels like a warning sign of this, still a little wet where the flowers painted turn to sky scraping buildings that are being taken over by vines. She told me she wasn't going to paint today but this warning sign of an Ellison Explosion is also a sign that I'm getting twenty dollars and a blow job on account that Elle clearly lost the bet made between us last night when she was attempting to plan out her day.

So the warning sign is also one that deserves a victory dance or two, which I incorporate a song with as I dance my way down the hallway and further into the Ellison Explosion.

She painted and now I get my willy sucked.
She painted and now I get my willy sucked.

I'm a master songwriter, clearly.

Finding her amongst the remains of the bomb that went off inside the apartment is trickier than I'm originally anticipating, though I can blame that on my victory sing song dance that has taken a high importance rather than my attempts at searching. Somewhere amongst the books and pieces of paper, somewhere past the other two canvases I have to step over and the thrown about clothes on the hardwood floor... somewhere, she's somewhere in here.

It feels more like she's everywhere though.

I step over a shirt, two strides closer to our bedroom door. Then I step over jeans that have a hole ripped into the knee, now in the doorway of our bedroom. A few more steps, a call of her name, and my shoe accidently kicking at a pair of pink lacy knickers and then I've found my way through Elle's trail of breadcrumbs, which comes to a halt as I stand in a different doorway, staring into our white tiled bathroom. She's like a treat waiting at the end and the aftermath of an Ellison Explosion feels like it's vibrating through the room still, only at this point it's at a low lull, no longer the deadly force that it was at when the storm was in full swing.

"Found me," I hear her say but her back stays turned to me, her hand splashing quietly in the bathtub she's sitting in.

"I've been working on my detective skills," I say back, my voice almost as hushed as hers.

She doesn't respond to this, instead leaning her head back to rest on the edge of the bathtub. I push away from my lean on the door frame and walk into the bathroom and toward the side of the tub. This room seems to have gotten the least of the Ellison Explosion considering she ditched most of her clothes in the bedroom instead, so I only have to step over a few thrown about things on the floor as I walk my way to her.