Saturday, August 11, 2012

Another Empty Room

Image courtesy WikiMedia Commons

The title of this work is called 'Another Empty Room.'  I wonder why...?


  1. I needed a place to tell him. So I wander around aimlessly trying to find an vacent room. I as I search, I am thining about how I will put it. I never thought bad news would be so hard to tell.

    So, as I find our empty room, I run into Will in the hall.

    "Where have you been?" He says

    I pull him into the room and take a deep breathe. I hold onto his sholders as if for support.

    "I am being drafted into the US Army." I say. As I start to tearnup, we just hold onto eachother as we sit in another empty room.

  2. The last box was loaded onto the truck, along with the vacuum. At least she'd swept earlier in the day, Lynn thought. The apartment which seemed too small suddenly felt so big.

    She looked for the bag of garbage they needed to take to the dumpster before they handed over the key, but it was nowhere to be found. It was probably in the last box that went out the door. The packers, who were so careful in the beginning, became rather random as the day wore on and their belongings multiplied exponentially.

    Todd was checking the closets and drawers for orphans. They'd held out a empty suitcase as a precaution. Phillip was still tottering around the periphery of the room, can of compressed gas in his hand, blowing the dust from the baseboards.

    Lynne cooed at Amy her bouncy, telling her that she'd have her own room soon, with walls the color of roses, instead of the corner of their bedroom crammed between the dresser and the desk. It was hard to say goodbye, all the same. She could see the imprints of the furniture on the carpet. There--the sofa where Phillip was conceived. And there -- where they kept the series of ficus plants they bought and subsequently killed with overwatering or neglect.

    She pulled a piece of tape from the wall where they'd hung streamers for Phillip's second birthday, and the remnants of the red wine she dropped last New Year's Eve. Even the chandelier she hated so, left by the previous owner and too expensive to replace, felt dear to her as it hung lonely where the table used to be.

    "It's time." Todd said, picking up the baby, who started to fuss, so he handed her over to Lynne.

    "They packed the garbage." She held out her arms and drew Amy in, her soft hair tickling her nose.

    Todd laughed. "I shudder to think what was in there. Please tell me no diapers."

    Lynne cringed. She couldn't say for sure.

    "It will make the new place feel just like home," he assured her. She could only hope.

    "Come on bud." Todd held out his hand.

    Phillip toddled over, like a little Frankenstein and held out the can. "All gone."

    Lynne hugged Todd as they closed the door for the last time. All gone. But always with her.


    His eyes are tired. Bleary and bloodshot, not at all seeing clearly. His wife had forsaken him hours ago; she did not compete with his mangled muse.

    Porchette was an artist of some renown who was found completely by accident. He had not meant to create. He meant to repair the damage he had inflicted upon the gallery piece he had fallen through in his drunken stupor. His repairs were futile. But his eye was remarkable.

    His recompense came when he had been commissioned to paint a piece in its stead. His inspiration was a celebration; a gathering of friends to fete his accomplishment. But after he had completed himself and Azraella (his wife), Porchette ran out of models to reproduce.

    His time ran short; a deadline approached. Porchette's angular rendering of his corner of the empty room stirred many emotions. His absurdity expressed in oils with the charming title, was another piece that had been a master stroke. The corks flew and vintage poured.

    Azraella did not like a sloppy drunk. But, she did not compete with his mangled muse.