Talis Man

8 | Time to Explore

Time to explore this old place. My room is nice, a little stuffy but that's fine. A full-length mirror is in the corner and a dresser next to it. The mirror is like a funhouse mirror a bit. My arm moves and then the reflection's arm moves. A little out of sync but maybe that's what old-timey mirrors in white frames do. There's nothing in the drawers but when I open each drawer, it has the smell of an old keepsake box that's been left in a basement to dry-rot for twenty years. Down the hallway is a bathroom. Down the stairs, I go, and to the living room. Shag carpet. Gross. The couches have butt dents in them and smell like an old litterbox. A big giant window is behind it. The television is dated. One of those kinds that have antennae on the top. The next room is the kitchen. And there's a bedroom with a bathroom to the side. Looks like Levon's been staying there. A film of dust collects on my fingertips as I drag them across the kitchen countertop. The coffee pot is full of cold coffee and a notebook and pen sit haphazardly next to it. I flip through the mostly empty pages decorated with doodles. Like this one says, Levon and Tessa forever with a dozen hearts and an infinity sign. Another one is scribbled in bubbly letters, Flectere si but the rest of the words are so fluffy, it's like reading a foreign language. Which I am. I turn to head upstairs to go through my fishbowl, now plastic baggy, papers but the stairs to the basement are behind a barely open door.

Curiosity killed the cat and I might be a cat right now, as the door creaks more as I open it further to peer down into total blackness.

Nope.

Not exploring there. It gives me the creeps so I shut the door, drag a kitchen chair over, and put it under the doorknob. The back door is by the fridge. The sun is setting on this side and watching it cast shadows from overtop the trees is beautiful. But for some reason, I have this feeling. The kind that creeps up the back of your neck. I double check the lock and then drag another chair under the doorknob.

With that thought, I double check the front door. It's locked and I'd do the doorknob thing too but what if Levon needs to come back tonight?

Shag carpet cushions my footfalls as I meander up the stairs and back to my room. The plastic baggy is stuffed, to say the least. The white paper with green corners are Latin phrases and the yellow corners are vocabulary words. I gather all the green cornered ones and sift through them. Flectere, flectere, flectere, flectere. Ah, to bend, to move, to will. But this is boring and I toss them all on the bed, green and yellow corners and all.

The waft of cat hits me as I sit on the couch. I call mom again. No answer. Voicemail, done.

Next up, Priya time. I call her. She answers but her voice is garbled. My phone has service so maybe it's her end. Hang up. Next, check my texts. Oh, my stomach swirls seeing I have five texts from my ex-boyfriend. What do they say? Good question.

Where are you?

What have you done?

Your mom isn't home and her car is gone. I can't get ahold of you?

Your stupid 'best friend' won't pick the phone up.

DON'T GO OUT AT NIGHT, TULA LYLA. LOVE YOU COOKIE, MOM.

The last one. That last one. It's exactly what mom would say and mom always types and texts in caps. Better to hear me with, is what she always says when I tell her what a grandma she looks like using caps lock all the time. But seriously, what the hell is happening? The thought of Adam impersonating my mom creeps me out more than Levon leaving me alone in an old house by myself at night so I delete every single text and turn the tv on to drown out the creepiness.

Six channels, basic cable only. What have we? ABC, NBC, Fox, PBS, and the other two are too grainy to see. PBS it is.

I lounge on the couch and watch a rerun of Arthur but where the dog can talk. It does its job and passes the time. It's dark outside, so dark, the stars light the sky. I have never seen a sky so bright. I kneel backwards on the couch and rest my chin on my hands. Beautiful. Stellar. Way better than Arthur. Guess I should try to get some sleep. My phone says I've been watching this one show for at least four hours. This PBS station must replay the same one over and over and over and over. I turn the television off and head to my room. The stairs creak under my feet and the noise highlights how quiet it is in here by myself. I head back downstairs and turn PBS back on just for the background noise.