“I sold it.”
“You sold it?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You sold, it, it in this sentence being the house? You sold the house?
“Yes”
“This house, our house, the house I am standing in right now?”
“Yep”
“You sold this house? Four bedrooms, three baths, a brown brick bungalow, late 18th-century colonial-style house? This house has been in your family for generations. The house you swore you would only ever sell over your dead body? This house?
“Yep, I sold it for three blueberry muffins and a bottle”
“You… you what”
” I sold the house”
“Babe…” he sighs in exasperation “you could not have sold the house, stop kidding”
“You need to leave by midnight, not earlier or later than midnight, you can only take one suitcase, leave your underwear.”
She walks around the American-style kitchen, rambling the instructions, her hair a sea of black clouds barely contained by her scarf, her long skirts trailing on the dirty brown tiles. Her fingers touched the countertops as if to commit them to memory. Her left hand holds an empty wine glass. She looks at it, surprised to see it there. Then gently place it on the marbled countertop.
He approaches her from his position on the archway, his hands raised, his voice soft as if talking to a scared animal.
“Babe, listen, look at me. Hey, look at me, you cannot sell the house, Ok, come on, let’s sit down and I will make you the rooibos tea you like.”
She stops her pilgrimage around the kitchen counter, facing away from him, towards the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, letting in the evening sunset, and sighs a thousand sorrows.
“Stop talking to me like a child, Adam,” Her voice is strong and assured.
He glances at her, surprised at her tone, then quickly at the empty glass of wine on the red-veined marble countertop. It’s taking longer nowadays, he thought.
“I am not, I am just…” he stops close to her, his hand almost at her shoulders, “I am just trying to understand”
She turns around violently, her necklaces, whipping around like tentacles.
“What the fuck don’t you understand, Adam?’
He steps back, unsure, his bloodshot eyes darting back and forth. He grabs his overgrown dreadlocks and starts pacing around. His too-loose trousers whipped back and forth on his skinny legs.
“I just mean, I… I just mean, you said you sold the house? What the hell? Three Muffins and a bottle? What does that mean?
Anna looks at Adam, her eyes listless; she sways back and forth as if she is in a trance.
“The witches, the witches in the forest, black soil and blood. Pack only one suitcase, and leave at midnight, no later or earlier. Leave at midnight.”
Adam looks at her desperately. She looks ethereal, like a nymph risen from the stream. Her dark skin lit up by an inner light. The setting sun, pouring through the huge floor-to-ceiling wall behind her, settling on her form like fairy dust
”Anna, Babe, listen, talk to me; who did you sell the house to?”
Her gurgling laugh bounces across the room settling in his ears like ticking time bombs. She grabs her stomach, bending over, and her laugh tearing her in two.
“Adam,” his name is a gasp from her lips, competing with her laughter for her breath. “Adam, Jesus, why don’t you listen to me? Why don’t you listen? You don’t, you don’t, and you never listen to me.”
“I am trying, goddammit! Who did you sell the house to? Why now? Why…”
“Adam, AdamAdam… …You never listen; you never ever listen; why don’t you listen to me?” the question comes out wet and broken, She holds her hands over her face and crouches down, hoping to hold the fragments of reality to her face.
Adam strolls to her and gazes down at her. A slow madness passes across his face. He leans down and smells her hair, then crouches down at her sobbing form.
“Babe, babe, I am listening. I always try to listen to you. Ok, I try. You just don’t make a lot of sense sometimes; you get stuck in your head. I am the only one who truly understands you.”
He gently grabs her thin shoulders and cradles her to his chest, like a baby.
“Come on; have another glass of wine ok?”
Word Prints 