Breaking Suburbia

The cat had become a brilliant addition to Maggie’s daily routine. Its luxurious fur stood up in a way that Maggie persistently had to pat it down. He (she called him King) adored it and would knead against her lithe fingers as she groaned in frustration. It was a balance between affection and playfulness, even intelligence, as King knew where everything in the kitchen was. He knew where his bowl was, his food, and food that wasn’t meant for him to snack on. King would paw against the stainless steel of the refrigerator for leftovers that Maggie would give to him depending on the messiness.

She gave him gravy yesterday. Consequently, the gravy became matted in his hair and she had to give him a baby wipe bath. This resulted in many scratches. Chester received many of these assaults, causing Maggie some kind of copious anxiety about the likelihood of rabies and strep.

But other than that, Chester was making time for her outside of work more diligently than he had been in the past. Tonight, he was coming over and they were going to go through the routine of watching movies on the sofa that was now tilted ever-so-slightly away from the wall. It was a comfortable thing to do, to be alone with each other and listen to the sound the speakers produced, but also the sounds of the heartbeats they shared. At least, Maggie liked to do that. Eventually, but usually after an hour or so of casually observing, their breathing would sync together into some kind of poetic oneness. Maggie thought it to be downright pitiable at first when she would consciously listen for the phenomena. Now, she did it involuntarily and absolutely loved every second of their bliss. It was the fondness she felt. The inseparable tie to a clueless girl and an equally as clueless guy.

They toyed with emotions far too often for people that were easily dubbed as emotionally underdeveloped. If youth is a fire, then emotions are the gasoline. Someone will be scalded.

She prepares for their date, ditching the white bedclothes he ardently hated and settling for some actual pants and a nice blouse. She looks at herself in the bathroom mirror and sees someone that is weary. Very methodically and precisely, her steady hand draws a thin line of kohl around her lids. It improves her look severely. Gazing into the depths of the unforgiving reflection, she, for once, doesn’t see herself as some insecure girl that is innocently broken.

As life is fleeting and passing before our eyes, it seems like the next second she is in Chester’s arms as they watch some music program. Chester’s as engaged as someone can be late at night watching a technical show. His calloused fingers wrap around her hair in some lazy fashion. Occasionally, they get tangled and Maggie winces, slowly, but surely, he finds a way to work out the knot.

“Maggie, why are you in this house all of the time?” He rudely interrupts her silence.

She thinks.

“It’s just what I do. I don’t want anything else.”

“How could you not want anything else?” Chester passionately refutes.

“I like the normalcy it brings for me.” She shrugs, petting the cat that has arrived at her feet with one extended foot smoothing down the stuck up hair on its back.

“That frustrates the hell out of me.”

And with that, they let it go and continued to revel in the muteness and the simultaneous roaring crowd inside the confines of their minds.