Pink Bedroom Door

The day was sweating-lemonade-glass bugs-swimming-through-the-air thunderstorm-building hot. And yet they sat there on their plastic lawn chairs, eating sunflower seeds and spitting the shells into the grass.

“It’s too hot,” he said, but didn’t move.

She didn’t answer for about a quarter of an hour. Then she said, “Well, you can go inside and sit on your behind in front of the television if that’s what you want.”

He made a noise in his throat which she understood to mean, “I can do that all winter. We should enjoy the sun while it lasts.”

They sat there, waving wrinkled hands at wasps searching for something sweet. She finished her lemonade and sucked on an ice cube. The rest of them melted into one gnarled clump in the glass.

He started snoring, and she swatted his knee with the flyswatter she kept nearby. Another immeasurable silence passed between them. They listened to the buzz of the power lines. They waved to the occasional car. A neighbor passed by, walking. They shared complaints about the heat with no hello or good-bye.

A window was open down the block. She could hear the news on. It all seemed the same these days.

“Wish he’d shut the damn window,” he said under his breath.

“We should drive out and check on the house,” she said.

“What house?”

“My folks’ old place down by Joshen.”

“That’s a long drive.”

“It is not.” She was determined now. “Get off your lazy butt and do something for a change. We haven’t been down since last year. Now’s as good a day as any.”

So they drove down, after letting the air run in the car for twenty minutes. It was not a long drive. The house was on the old farm, abandoned now. The kids from the town nearby had shot a hole through one of the windows. That was new. She’d already seen their pencil graffiti on the old wallpaper, with graduation years and initials in hearts. It broke hers to see the house in such a state.

He put on that gruff attitude and rolled his eyes when she got like this, but she didn’t let it stop her from soaking herself in the memories the house brought back. Her memory wasn’t so good these days, so she held tight to things that sparked those cold embers in her head.

“Look,” she said, “that’s where the kitchen was.”

“Watch out so you don’t break through the floor,” he said, leaning in the doorway.

The ceiling was gone but for crossbeams. The sun illuminated the dirt-covered floor. Leaves and branches and beer cans covered every inch of it. It broke her heart.

“Here’s where the table used to be. And the sofa here.”

“Isn’t that the sofa there?”

“Oh, yah.” It was barely recognizable, shoved off to one side. The kids must have ripped it open. Half the stuffing was gone, and the fabric was faded from the weather.

“That there was the window. I used to sit there sometimes. And that’s my old bedroom door. I’m surprised that’s still here.” The paint was peeling. Pink and ajar. She’d shared it with all her sisters. A few of them were gone already. “That’s the key hole where I—” She sucked dusty air through her teeth. Her husband scuffed his shoe against the door frame.

“Let’s go home. It’s too hot.”