the affiliations reversed: to the north, the party seeking
independence and freedom from the rules of the whole; the south hoping
for fairness, equality, and unity - solidarity against becoming
solitary. each room becomes a hole - items necessary for survival
brought in, not much taken out. common areas become uncommonly
traveled; the living room unlived, dining room undined, kitchen
unkitsched. layers of dust settle over furniture and floor, the only
path leading to bathroom, bedrooms, and back out again. pressing down
equally over all is the quiet.
during the day the house is near silent, save the intermittent
click, rattle, and hum of the ancient refrigeration unit. the two
sides have withdrawn from the battlefield and escape to reload, maybe
at school, at a relative's, who knows where else. after ten each night
one returns, hoping as the car turns the corner that the truck will be
gone, and at the same time sighing when the parking spot is empty.
lights flipped on then off again, doors locked, safely inside a room
until, an hour or more later, the door unlocks again. the quiet
discends after the first rustlings of coming home.
from one room is heard the quiet shhshh'ing turn of a book page, escaping down the long and echoing tunnel of ductwork. the reply comes from a television, consistently tuned to real world/road rules challenge. fights are fought in garbage and dishes, how high can a pile go before one (not the other) will finally break down and clear the mess? the thermostat another last stand: a difference of two degrees becoming life and death.
it's time for one, or both, to admit defeat.
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