Lamella by Max halper

Author:Max halper
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2022-05-05T00:48:41+00:00

“Listen,” I said to my girlfriend. “Why don’t you get out of the house for a while this afternoon. Go get a massage or, I don’t know, go see a friend or something. Just take some time for yourself. I’ll be fine here, and you’ll feel better after.”

My girlfriend’s eyes flickered, not really seeing me. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will. Thank you.” She kissed me. “Yeah, I’m going to get out of here.” She kissed me again, gathered her things, and paused only briefly at the front door to smile back at me before leaving.

I straightened up the house. I took out the garbage, swept the kitchen floor and the dining room floor and ran the dishwasher. I moved some laundry around in the basement, then decided to get really crazy and vacuum between the cushions on the sofa in the den. I vacuumed under the sofa, wiped the windows down—including the sliding doors in the kitchen—changed a light bulb in the downstairs hallway, and cleaned the stove. When there was nothing left to clean, I had no choice but to go to the study and grade papers. Except, again, the study was gone, so I sat on the sofa and spread the papers on the coffee table. I felt amateurish and feared my notes to my students reflected that amateurism. ‘Sentence unclear, re-write.’ ‘This thesis statement not great.’ ‘Consider moving this paragraph.’ I feared I was being useless to them, so gave nothing lower than a B. I finished the first batch of papers around noon and poured a tepid cup of coffee, then sipped it while gazing out the sliding doors at the overcast sky. My toes and fingertips were cold, so I turned up the thermostat, microwaved my coffee, and went upstairs to get a sweater from the bedroom.

The study door was shut, and there was a rustling sound behind it, like paper being torn or crinkled. I pressed my ear to the door. I heard more rustling, and a soft, deep breathing. I chewed my lip. I raised my hand to knock, but hesitated, listening, and then committed, and knocked on the door. The rustling stopped. I knocked again. An abrading voice called out, “Hold on!” I heard movement, and a different voice, a deeper voice, and the scraping of furniture. I threw open the door. The teenager was sitting on the bed with the sheets pulled up to its neck. Behind it, halfway through the open window, a boy clambered away, his pants unfastened and falling around his waist, his shirt and coat clutched in one hand.

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