Breaking Suburbia

The hours seemed like days when Chester was absent from her life. His hours at the shop had seemingly only multiplied since the fearless night that was simply a memory ago for Maggie. There was no need to romanticize something that felt so primal, so natural. As she sat at her desk, she wondered if everyone else felt this way about it or if she was just another exception to the normalcy.

On a pad of paper, she had crafted a list of all of the neighboring colleges and universities. Most of the names had long, shaky pen lines through the loopy scrawl underneath the ink blanket. So far, it seemed as if Maggie was going to have to attend the local community college, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world for her. In fact, she considered it a desirable path as the community college class size average leveled off at an even fourteen students per course. Maggie assumed she could handle around fourteen people if she had enough time between classes. And, after all, it was just community college. Half of the kids wouldn’t even show up.

She feared she’d be one of those kids that didn’t show up.

Frustrated and in need of a rest, no matter how minimal the period of relaxation was, Maggie flipped the yellow pages of notepad to conceal her progress. Trudging towards the bed, she slowly began to encase her shivering legs in between the fluffy comforter. A distant meow is carried through the wild, southern wind into her home along with the sound of children playing in their respective backyards. She cranes to hear a conversation between two mothers across a fence next door, they smile, but there is an obvious malice they hold against each other. And suddenly the fence between the two women becomes more than just a fence.

Maggie sighs, hearing the crooning of a cat beckon. It becomes louder and louder as she lays. Twisting the ring around her finger, she wonders if Chester has worn the shirt she found for him when she went shopping. Then, it dawns on her that the shirt is still in the closet, folded and ready to be given to the boy whenever he came around. Maggie had gone shopping yesterday (or was it two days ago?) because Chester complained that, “You’re always wearing variants of white bedclothes. Do you have anything besides white bed clothes?” He said it with a scowl on his face too. A concerned scowl that let her know that he was more concerned than disappointed.

“I have some sweaters.” She answered. She hated when he was right. Aside from the most recent shopping endeavor, she hadn’t been shopping since high school.

It was a learning (or observing) experience, to be in a mall, to be in it alone. But Maggie made due with the circumstances and tried not to pay attention to the consistently rushing crowd around her. Everyone was in a hurry, heaping clothing over their arms, racing to the dressing rooms. They did not shut up either, they continued to talk in these loud and fast voices. At first it didn’t bother her, but now, it did. This was Chester when she wasn’t around. He was caught in the Future, that Future that never changed until life left our bones. It was quite a sad thing, to know and witness a dreamer, an innovator, a socialite. How strange it was to her to be warped around something as intangible as time. Oh, how our futures are fleeting!

And how obscure it was when a flat faced cat had its bushy tail curled around the sheer curtains. The thick, satiny fur was a dingy grey color with black stripes. It was a majestic creature that had simply shown up her windowsill.

Curling up towards the headboard, she stared into the feline’s green eyes and felt the thump of her heart beating against her collarbone. It probably carried all sorts of extremely contagious diseases and was violent and would pee everywhere. Back and forth, the tail beat against the thin curtains, curling around the lace trim, making an utter spectacle of itself. Like Hester Prynne, not once did it bother to come down off of its highly perch.

After Maggie had huddled against the distressed, white, wrought iron headboard for an indefinite amount of time, she reminded herself that she wasn’t helpless. This was a goddamned house cat. Maggie threw off the covers and slowly, but oh-so-defiantly, to the cat’s throne made upon her windowsill beneath the rosebushes.

As she neared closer, she heard footsteps. However, she discarded the sounds as simple illusions of her mind as she did not hear a door close. Turning back to the cat, she clutched her billowing pillow, ready to use it as a weapon or a barrier against his talons.

“Oh hey, look at that.” His warm voice filled the room with a childish wonder that knew of no evil.

“Chester, get away from that!” Maggie warned, cringing as he neared closer.

He chuckled, ignoring Maggie’s simple request. Extending his arm, which was covered in curly black hair, he reached out towards the cat. The cat arched its back and began to release a surly hiss. “Chester.” She grabbed his arm, her fingers wrapped around his rolled up, green gingham sleeve. Her eyes were wide with caution and her nostrils were flared as if she was a poked bull before the fateful dance with the matador. “Don’t touch it!” She ordered. The cat responded with a half shriek and half meow.

“Oh, he looks cute Maggie!” The late summer light pouring through the window highlighted the devilish gleam in his eyes. “Here, come here kitty!” He summoned the cat by snapping his fingers and lifting his voice into extremely high octaves.

The cat quirked his head as Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. She couldn’t stop him. She let her arm drop and hoped that the cat didn’t scratch him too bad. “Oh kitty!” Chester laughed. Maggie dared to take a peek at the scene. Chester had the cat kneading against his palm, purring robustly as the boy smiled widely. Maggie noticed the tanning of his skin. He had been somewhere. He’d been outside.

She let it go, as she thought it to be something trivial. “Chester, it might be, infected or something.” Maggie grimaced, trying to plead with him.

“Just put your hand out and pet him already.” Chester smiled.

Maggie dropped the pillow and advanced towards the purring animal. Her thin fingers twined through the cat’s silken strands. A back arched and Maggie nervously smiled. “See, nothing is wrong with him.” Chester beamed.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Maggie continued to stroke the fur of the cat, which was surprisingly perfectly combed out.

“Oh nothing.” Chester smiled, closing the window and trapping the cat in the home. Maggie glared. “Oh come on Margaret. He’s harmless.”

Maggie ceased to pet the cat. “Then take him home with you.”

“You know I can’t do that, babe.”

“And, also, my name is Maggie.”