No Space Between Us
The doorbell rings, jarring and loud, but I don’t bother. My wife, Saru used to take care of it, welcoming guests in her melodious voice. Now, a sign greets visitors: “Don’t ring the bell. Risk of electrocution.” No one’s died yet, but this little piece of paper has kept couriers, salesmen, and pesky kids at bay. At least until now!
I jab the remote, crank up the volume, and slump onto the couch. My throat constricts as I reach for the chips and coke. Without Saru in my life, food tastes like ash. She left five days ago for some “time away for herself” after our last row. I still don’t know why she needed time for herself.
I hear scampering feet outside and glancing through the window I spot them: the brother-sister duo. “Little pests,” I mutter. This duo is the thorn in my married life, hounding me since they moved in next door six months ago. If Saru were here, she’d rush out to chat with them, as if they were interesting.
Everyone loves Saru—kids, adults, animals, and even birds. Who wouldn’t love a person who hands out free food, water, care, and advice?
The bell rings again, and I fling the door open. “Aunty’s not here. No free food today.”
Wiping her tears, the girl asks, “Uncle, have you seen Miffi?”
“Who?!”
“You know her…Our cat. Persian, with beautiful green eyes.”
Her brother adds. “Aunty always gets tuna for her.”
Oh, I know that mangy furball. Sheds fur at my place, eats pricey tuna, and lives like a queen. A month ago, I had snapped at Saru, “That cat’s a menace.” “C’mon don’t be jealous!” she teased, petting it.
“Uncle?!” the girl tugs at my sleeve.
“No Miffy-Piffy here. No tuna either.”
“We don’t want tuna.”
“Good, now get going.”
The girl stands on her toes, peering past me, surveying my home as if that filthy creature is inside. Tears glisten as she whispers, “Miffi is lost. Uncle, please help us.”
I glare at them, hoping they get the message. They’re not welcome here anymore.
The boy sighs. “Our parents are at work. We don’t know what to do. Aunty would’ve helped us.”
I know she would’ve. “Well, Aunty is not here.” I slam the door shut, but the image of their crestfallen faces lingers like a bad aftertaste.
As I munch on the potato chips, my eyes land on the photograph taken on our wedding day. One year into our marriage, when she said, “I’m ready, let’s plan our first kid,” my stomach churned, my past came flooding—mom’s sudden disappearance—dad’s alcoholic breath—steely grip—pursed lips—raspy whisper: you ruined my life, you ruined us, I wish you were never born.
I couldn’t bare my soul to her, reveal the broken pieces, so I kissed her instead. “We’re young now, what’s the hurry.” She kissed back, but I knew she wanted more than I could offer. I had a new excuse every month. Soon, she stopped asking, and I was relieved. I’m not my father. I’d never lose my wife.
“We’ve become like train tracks,” she fumed last month, “running parallel, never meant to meet.”
I brushed it off, blaming her outburst on lady problems. We’ve good jobs and a spacious home. I love the restaurant-style food at home. My shirts are always clean and well-ironed. My bedroom smells like a spa. What more could a man want?!
We never used to fight, at least not until six months ago. Ever since this trio became a permanent fixture in my home, arguments and squabbles have replaced the quiet. I don’t mind what Saru does in her free time, but once I am back from work, she has to attend to my needs. I think that’s a reasonable expectation.
Just the other day, I ate dry bread because Saru was at the vet’s place. Imagine, ignoring your husband to be a mom to someone else’s cat?! Recently, I wanted to visit the mall, but she refused, “Miffi will be lonely.”
“Saru, this is too much! You’d skip a movie to watch this thing playing with yarn?”
“Stop it! You’re growing grumpier every day.”
“Please, for God’s sake stop this nonsense!” I am not a petty person, but how long can a man suffer in silence?
The TV’s loud, but the sound’s not loud enough to block the pitiful whines coming from outside. I want to slap these kids hard, but memories of another fight hit harder. “Saru, you’re wasting your life over strangers.” Her words had left me shattered, “it’s better than wasting on you.” The very next day she left. What’d I do if she abandons me? I don’t want to end up like Dad, a frustrated loser. I could hire a cook and a maid. But it wouldn’t be the same. And the cost!
I have to do something—anything—to win her trust, to show her I care. I grab a tuna can from the side shelf—maybe I can win her back.
“Fine, I’ll help,” I call out to the kids, and the smile on their faces says it all.
It’s after sunset when I return home. Tired, but smug. We didn’t find the cat, but I know for sure these will tell Saru about “Uncle’s big heart.” That’s a plus one for me!
The kids trudge off, reminding me of my promise – to call their parents in case I see Miffi. I stand on the porch, inhaling the crisp evening air, staring at their fading shadows.
Locking the door behind me, I hum a little tune. When Saru is back, things will go back to normal. No fights, no arguments.
I just need to fix a tiny thing.
I open the freezer and there it is. Miffi’s green eyes, wide open and unblinking, staring right back at me. A victorious smile appears on my face. “Saru’s only mine forever.”
(990 words)
This story, No Space Between Us, is my submission for ArtoonsInn’s monthly writing event – #PullTheRug
Prompt -“write a story in whatever way you want, only to shatter the reader’s expectations in the final paragraph, sentence, or line.”