It could have been thunder, the first crash of metal on wood as they began to break down the door. I sat bolt upright, heart racing as I heard it, attempting to discern my dreams from our reality. The second crash made it clear, not weather, not dreaming. The air was cold on my body where our sheets had fallen away, I shivered involuntarily. I kicked him, surprised that he, that anyone, could sleep through this noise as artificial thunder reverberated around our bedroom again. Different this time, though its source was the same, the wood made a cracking noise as it splintered. I rubbed my eyes, adjusting to the too-early-to-be-light darkness, and realise that he’s awake. He doesn’t return my gaze, he’s boring a hole in the wall with his eyes, staring through it as though it were a curtain and he is watching our front door being destroyed. I reach out to break his revere, gently laying my hand on his shoulder. He’s tense, like an animal coiled and ready to spring, he meets my eyes, wide in disbelief, and I realise his are wild with fury, hatred, resolve. I’m frightened, a flash back to nature documentary's on the couch smiling sleepily cradled in his arms as he imitates the foreign voice, holding my ribs together against the giggling; fight or flight. I know him too well to hope he’ll run. I open my mouth to speak as we hear the door finally give way, I let it hang, open and silent, I can’t think of anything to say anymore. A half-second later and I’m not looking at him, lights flashing through the corridor, sharp images illuminated in a nonsensical patten against the soft light of our sleep. Through our door, onto our bed, into our lives. I am a statue, cemented to the bed by my fear as he lets out a feral snarl that tears straight through me. I stare at them here, in our house and scream a silent entreaty at him to stay calm as they begin to empty our draws.
He didn’t fight or flight, a dead weight as two of them wrench him from the safety of our bed, arms pinned to his sides, wrestled behind his back, his face a hard mask protecting us from them. I shiver again as I follow him, moving unthinking like the oceans silently responding to the tug of the moon. Out into the hall, onto our veranda, our home covered by them, an army of ants invading our precious nest. I stand still and mute as they read to him. Foreign sounding words from a laminated piece of paper, jargon they had stored especially for this occasion in the back of their van. I am surprised as he chuckles through their speech; they ask him to understand and he laughs. His eyes are steady, jaw raised aggressively, I've seen him like this before, defending us, defiant and despite myself my heart swells with pride. I stand there even after they’ve pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. I fight the obscene urge to wave. I stay there as they continue within our home, opening, emptying, violating, like vultures picking over a caracas.
I sob my way through our home, treading carefully around the detritus of our lives laid bare all over our floors. I shake my head and tears are sprayed from left to right, a tiny sprinkler, I don’t know where to start without him. Opening the back door and watching the sun rise slowly, with the dawn the clouds of my consciousness clearing after rain. I run through the yard, over the freezing lawn, tiny icicles pricking my skin. The shed door is open, hanging from its hinges, the heavy lock discarded in two pieces at my feet, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness as I step inside. Empty. I run my fingers over the rough, untreated wood that makes up the too clean shelves. I can see the holes in the roof now, tiny pinpricks of sunlight streaming through where the bolts that once secured the light fittings have been removed, the jagged openings cut with his stepdads tinsnips in the back of the shed where the drains had run, the dark patches on the floor where the dirty water had pooled after being spilt carelessly out onto concrete. Slumping against the back wall I begin to choke.
My throat tightens and my legs buckle, I sink slowly to the floor. The image of his eyes meeting theirs, his calm, his defiance. He’d laughed. He’d lain there quietly as they’d torn apart our house, our home. He’d gone to the van, he hadn't looked back. He’d laughed as though, as though it didn’t matter, as though I wasn't frightened. He'd laughed as though he’d known they were coming, as if he'd known they’d find nothing, as if he’d known he’d come home. The shed was empty and he’d laughed. I swallow against the bile rising in my throat and choke back a sob. The terror and confusion of the morning melting away against the violence of my grief. He’d laughed. I stay there, on the floor of the shed, watching the light filtering through the roof move slowly across the floor in an ellipse. I rise slowly, stretching as the blood flows back into my limbs, prickling the nerves. The warmth of the afternoon sun sinking into my clothing as I wander over the now dry lawn and pause at the threshold of what had this morning been our home before immersing myself in the chaos again.
The vultures are gone, the carcass cleaned, bones laid bare in the sun. I sort slowly at first, carefully picking up each item to inspect it for damage, for ownership; mine, his, ours, before either replacing it or putting it in my bag. Life-sized tetris, a place for everything to belong. Overwhelmed by a sense of purpose I become a hurricane, tearing through our belongings. A home reduced to a a sum of parts. I am surprised when I hear the laughing, like a hyena, more so when I realise the deranged sound is coming from my mouth. A life, a home, laughed into death in the space of a day. I close the door behind me, not pausing this time as I pass through the doorway of our life together without looking back.
Love E x
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