Familiar Surroundings

         Natalie knew that if she opened the door she would be snooping. She also knew she wouldn’t get caught. She turned the handle and stepped in. She could tell the room was different. The room smelled the same. The same way Shane smelled when he got out of the shower, ivory soap with a touch of aftershave. The walls were the same creamy peach color; she had chosen it. (Shane had wanted blue even though Natalie told him only little boys painted their walls that color.) Glancing at her feet, she saw the pale carpet still held the purple stain in front of the door, where she had dropped her wine glass when he carried her up the stairs that one Christmas. She glanced at the mini-bar in the corner; the bottles of vodka and brandy arranged decoratively. One of those would really hit the spot. She though better of it. Was it her drinking that made him leave her?
         Her eyes moved to the king size bed, home to the most pleasant memories of their relationship. Memories of long nights of ecstasy flooded her mind. The cracked headboard made her to smile; it was all coming back to her now. At least that part of their relationship had been successful. The bed still had the same sky blue comforter, but the corners were straight and there were no visible creases or wrinkles. Unnecessary pillows were arranged, neatly, white with lace, delicately embroidered with blue flowers.
         So that’s the kind of girl he’s dating now, she thought, frowning, thinking back to their days of rumpled sheets. She hated the bed to be made. To her, a made bed was like hanging a giant sign, CLOSED UNTIL BEDTIME! That’s not fun. She thought Shane agreed. Her eyes moved to the nightstand, plain and wooden, one little drawer that could lock in your secrets. Resting on top were photographs in the frames that used to surround her face. Their new occupant, a brunette with long curly hair and bright green eyes, was smiling at her, seemingly gloating with her arms around Shane’s neck. Natalie never knew her contempt for green eyes. They seemed so pretentious, so condescendingly intellectual. Her pale blue eyes must have bored Shane.
         She walked over to the walk-in closet, the major perk of living with Shane. As she opened the door, the pleasant scent of cedar triggered memories of getting dressed on cold morning. They had made love in this closet, on top of the mounds of the colorful eclectic garments that made up her wardrobe. Now, the closet floor was barren, a clean pathway between two rows of neatly hung up clothing. His on the left, hers on the right. She did not need to look at the labels of the pencil skirts and trendy blazers, black, grey and tweed. They were obviously designer.
         How could he be dating this woman? Shane was not sophisticated. He was down-to-earth, football watching, hanging with his buddies kind a guy. He didn’t need embroidered pillows, or a girl with green eyes. She and Shane were perfect together! How could he do this? Why would he leave her for this unfitting woman of perfection? Natalie yanked the woman’s clothes off the hangers, blanketing the floor. This woman had no right to keep her clothes here. Her fury boiling, Natalie made her way to the nightstand. With one sweep of her arm, the pictures of the new girl fell into the trash with a satisfying ‘ting’. The pillows caught her eye, the lace and dainty blue flowers mocking her. She grabbed them, unsuccessfully trying to rip off the lace. She chucked them across the room, making sure they didn’t cover her forever-grape smelling blemish. She flung herself onto the bed, limbs moving manically, creating active volcanoes of wrinkles and creases on the formerly smooth comforter.
         Exhausted, she became still and sobbed onto the bed. Through blurred tears, she looked around the room, messy closet, crinkled sheets, no more pictures of Miss. Green Eyes. This is more like it, she thought wiping her eyes, as she lay back onto the bed, waiting for Shane to come home.