silence broken

My wine glass was empty again. That was the problem with drinking, I suppose. You drink and then, as if by magic, you’re met with the dregs from the bottom again. The problem is that the pain doesn’t lessen. You’re still alone in your house, waiting for them to come back. Waiting for them to call. Send up a flare. Anything. But they don’t. So you’re alone.

Homer, the black and gray Maine Coon whose space I share, seems to take exception to my musing and flops his massive body on my lap.

“The only man I need.” I kissed his fluffy head as he started his evening shift at the biscuit factory. I had adopted him when he was a kitten, and he hadn’t left my side since.

How the hell did I end up here? It’s like your typical cat lady story. Can’t keep her man, so she just hangs out with her cat for the rest of her life. I only have one cat, however, so I don’t think I qualify as a crazy cat lady just yet.

That’s what Jace always said I would be, though: a crazy cat lady who would die alone. He said that I was heartless, especially when I refused to give up my art studio to be his state-of-the-art home gym.

“Savannah, it’s not like your art is actually something people want to buy. It’s just trees and animals and shit. What, did you think you were going to be the next Picasso or something?” he flexed his admittedly sculpted arms for me. “Do you see these? My followers are always asking me what my home routine is. I don’t want to let them down, and your studio, if you want to call it that, has better lighting and space! Don’t you want me to succeed? It’s more than just your stupid little hobby.”

I rolled my eyes and refilled my wine glass again. “Yes, because my sold-out online store, gallery, and illustration contracts definitely indicate that this is just a hobby. I’m just barely getting by, and I’ll never have a single ounce of success.” Standing, I dislodge Homer, earning a disgruntled glare. “C’mon, baby, let’s go show him that there’s more to Mama than meets the eye.”

Homer stretched his shaggy body and padded down the hallway after me. The floors creaked as we walked, but other than the occasional knock of the tree branches brushing against my windows, the house was silent. As soon as I could, I left the busy city I grew up in and found this quaint haven. I never once looked back. Having grown up in a thousand-square-foot apartment with neighbors constantly banging on the walls and music blaring well past midnight, the quiet surrounding me was a gift.

As we reached the studio, Homer left my side to go to his favorite place. His spot overlooked the backyard, and even though it was dark, he still hopped up to his window seat and surveyed his kingdom before settling down for a nap.

A canvas was already set up because I’d been planning on painting before I kicked Jace out. I needed to create some pieces for my online store, and I tend to work better at night. I think it was the quiet. My little home sat on the edge of the woods, and I loved opening my windows and listening to the nightlife that surrounded me. Owls, birds, deer, raccoons; my woods had all that and more, and even though I couldn’t always see them, I could hear them, and I always found evidence of them on my walks. With all the inspiration around me, why wouldn’t I utilize it? Right now, though, I didn’t want to paint any of it.

I opened my window and took a deep breath to steady myself. The night air was brisk and smelled like snow. The shadows loomed large and deep as they reflected the moon's dim light. Winter has always been my favorite season. The smells, the quiet moments that could be found in the hustle and bustle of the holidays, the snow, and the way the light reflected on it. Jace hated the winter, especially the cold, but I honestly think that was mostly because he couldn’t take shirtless pictures outside.

I wish I could say that a huge wave of inspiration hit since Jace walked out the door, but it couldn't be further from the truth. I sat looking at a blank canvas for longer than I’d like to admit, holding my wine, mulling over every moment. Every snipe at my career. Every tantrum about space. Every comment or eye roll when I mentioned a sale or a new contract. How had I missed it? I let him tear away little pieces of myself, of my craft, of my soul. I used to wake up excited to paint, but the longer I was with Jace, the more hollow I felt. The more I hated myself for loving what I did.

Maybe it was rage fueled by the wine or the cold night air giving me a courage I'd never had before, but before I knew what happened, I screamed and flung my wine at the canvas.

Breathing heavily, I crumpled to the floor and wept. A quiet thud told me Homer had come off his perch, and seconds later, I felt him curl his body into mine. I don’t know how long we stayed there. He didn't leave. He kept purring and licking my face until the storm passed. I finally sat up, and Homer stayed in my lap as I wiped the tears away.

The canvas caught my eye, and something about the way the Merlot looked on the canvas in the moonlight hit me, and seconds later, I moved to my paints and started mixing. Golds, reds, blues; the colors came to life on my palette and then moved to the canvas.

The wine began to dry, and I used the stain as an outline to express everything that I was feeling. Anger, hurt, disappointment, confusion. I had been with Jace for two, almost three, years. How had I let him leech the light and strength out of me? How had I let him chip away the pieces of me that made me who I was? Why hadn’t I seen him for who he was?

Homer, having hopped back up to his roost, watched me paint, blinking lazily. His tail swished, knocking quietly against the wall. I wonder if he was proud of me for finally breaking free from Jace’s hold. He was a sweet, friendly cat who loved everyone except Jace. I should’ve taken that as a sign. The feeling was mutual, as Jace always complained that he was a dog person.

The longer I painted, the more like myself I felt. The more I felt a sort of peace washing over me. Jace had worked so hard to erase who I was and what I loved, and for way too long, I had let him. But that ended today. With each brushstroke, I reclaimed a piece of myself that had been locked up and shut away. Instead of cutting myself up into little, digestible pieces, I embraced who I was and what I did for the first time in what felt like forever.

The night stretched on, and the silence of the dark world around me grew deeper. Finally, I stepped back and looked at the canvas in front of me. This was a piece I wouldn’t sell. I purposefully never hung my artwork in my home, but this would be the first. It needed to dry, but once it did, it would hang in a spot of honor above my mantle. A reminder of who I was and who I was becoming. I shut the window and lifted Homer from his perch, and left the room.

The floors creaked as I went back to the living room and picked up the mostly empty wine bottle. Over the course of the evening, I had gone from a girl, sobbing and heartbroken, to a woman who had begun a journey to find herself. Moving towards the kitchen, I realized it was after midnight. I’m a night owl, but it had been a long day, and this girl was tired.

I bent to put the bottle away, and then I yawned as I straightened. “Time for bed, Homer,” I said, kissing his soft fur. “Let’s go, baby.”

**knock knock**

I sighed. I rarely received visitors, which was one of the advantages of being where I was. Close enough to run into town to run errands, but far enough away to be inconvenient for unwanted visitors. The only lights on in the house were some lamps scattered throughout the house, so I wasn’t surrounded by total darkness. Hoping whoever it was would just leave, I quietly made to move towards my bedroom.

The knock sounded again. This time, however, it sounded like something was knocking into the little table on the porch. “Who the hell is that?” I put Homer down and walked slowly to the door. “Jace, you'd better be about to try something stupid.”

I peeked through the peephole and saw nothing. I sighed, then turned and started to walk towards the back of the house. But then the knocking started up again.

If this was Jace trying to mess with me, he picked the wrong woman for this. I stormed to the front of the house and flung the door open.

“What the hell do you want, Jace?”

But it wasn’t Jace.

It was a small, white kitten. It had fallen into the pot I kept on the porch, which explained the knocking noises. It looked up at me with wide, green eyes full of fear and meowed at me. I picked up the tiny cat and cradled it to my chest. Homer stretched up my leg to sniff at the tiny intruder and licked the tiny paw hanging down.

“Well, I don't know where you came from, but you certainly can’t stay out here.” I began to move towards the house, but just before I shut the door, I heard the roar of an engine. I rushed to the edge of the porch to see a car pulling away, down my gravel driveway, and off into the snowy night.

The kitten, Homer, and I looked at each other. Whoever knocked on my door and left this little one on my door was completely unknown to me. Maybe it was some random stranger trying to dump an unwanted kitten in the woods, and happened to stumble across my cottage.

Or maybe it was the universe gifting me with a new little life to celebrate the start of my new one. My new life where I knew my worth and demanded nothing less than the love I knew I deserved.