Misunderstood Disagreements

“Marcus.”

“Amy.”

And an awkward pause. Amy waited for her boyfriend to explain himself. Marcus wanted her to leave. Amy needed him to be honest. Marcus could have gone without Amy needing his honesty. Amy just wished he wasn’t scared of her. Marcus was scared of the rustling behind him and that Amy would -what?- not be so keen on it?

Well, Marcus was too far into his friend to philosophize about his girlfriend’s ability to not freak the fuck out. Marcus spent the past three months philosophizing. Now he prayed Amy wouldn’t kill him for what he did.

Marcus sat on their bedroom carpet, right in front of their closet doors. Amy stood at the adjacent bedroom entrance. They stared at eachothers eyes. Through the silence between them, words were still spoken. Amy raised an eyebrow. Marcus nodded towards her. Amy crossed her arms. Marcus mirrored her. She leaned on the door frame. He pressed his heels into the carpet and mushed his back against the closet door. And Marcus’s friend, rustling and whimpering in the dark of said closet, put its weight on the opposite side of the closet door.

Marcus tensed. Amy crossed her feet. As Marcus’s friend leaned on the door, a dozen or so creaks and pops sounded from the closet door. Marcus nodded again at her. Amy broke the silence.”

“What’s in there?” Amy said.

“What’s in there?” Marcus’s words cracked and squealed like a desparate hysteric. It shook him how panicked he sounded. He lost what he was going to say. He nodded to Amy again, but this time she wouldn’t oblige by answering. She was waiting for his answer, a good answer. There was no way he could sweet talk her out of unfolding her arms and forget the whole thing. Not now nor ever.

“What’s in there?” Marcus swallowed and closed his eyes. “What do you want to be in there?”

Amy didn’t budge.

“I’m serious, baby. What do you want to be in there?”

“Marcus.”

“There could be anything, honey. What do you want to be in there?”

Amy stepped into the bedroom. If the ceiling light were on, Marcus knew he would have seen rosy flush filling her cheeks. Oh, Amy, you always blush so easy. His mom told her one Thanksgiving. And, sure enough, she blew out in blush and got embarassed for the rest of the night. Marcus pictured her blushing now, and smiled.

But the ceiling light wasn’t on. The bedroom was one and a half notches above pitch-black. The only light was from the large picture window next to their dresser. Evening glum spilled in through the window. It soaked everything, the carpet, the dresser, the bed, the throw pillows, a pile of laundry, the hollows in Amy and Marcus’s faces in murky grays and swirling blacks. Marcus couldn’t see Amy blushing as much as Amy couldn’t see what was in the closet. Huh, and what’s the philosophizing in that?

“What’s in the closet, Amy?” Marcus said

“What? Hello? No, you tell me what’s in there.” Amy said.

“I mean…there’s a lot of things that could. I mean -clothes! Socks and shit. Maybe even shoes! We moved all the shoes to the shoe rack, but I gotta be a saint for ya, sweetie dear. Guess what?”

“Marcus, quit being an asshole.”

“I kept a pair of slides up in those hat boxes! Ha! There’s not even hats in half of them. Your grandma gyped ya. Hehehe…”

The closet door groaned. Marcus felt the wood against his back sink backwards. His heart, pounding like drum solo, started to slow down. Maybe he could even think of a good lie for Amy. His stalling wasn’t working.

“Marcus.” Amy said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you’ve hiding something in their since last week. I believed you when you said you were reorganizing and wanted to do it all on your own for a little bit, but it doesn’t take someone a week and I know you have something in there. What is it? A cat? A dog? A fucking bear? What is it? You know I’m fine with getting a pet. Why are you hiding it? Just tell me, dammit!”

“I tried once.” Marcus said.

“Oh really? When?”

It was a month ago. Back when he was only playfully thinking of bringing his friend home. Emphasis on playful. Marcus knew there’d be issues from Amy. Despite her own words, Amy was not one for sharing spaces. It took the better part of a year for Marcus to learn the extent their “partnership” was a share of paychecks but not who ran things.

“I told you about it after Michelle’s party?” Marcus said. “You weren’t listening.”

“What? I don’t even remember that, Marcus!” Amy said.

“You weren’t paying attention. I asked ‘what do you think of having a roommate with us?’. You were on your phone…you weren’t listening.”

“Well, what the fuck, Marcus? If I didn’t hear you, why didn’t you ask again?”

“I didn’t want-”

“And what do you mean roommate? A pet isn’t a roommate. Michelle was roommate. We’re basically roommates. A pets a pet.”

Marcus stared at Amy. The evening glum slipped to gloom.

“Marcus,” Amy said, “just show me the damn thing, please. You’re walking around like some depressed person. I hate it. You’re not like that. Are you afraid of me or something? Are afraid of what I would do?”

Marcus’s face sunk into leaving light. The closet door groaned and popped, then a snap that made Amy jump. She couldn’t see it, but a hinge of the closet door split out of the wood.

“Yeah.” Marcus said. “I would be afraid.”

“Why, Marcus? What did I do to you?” Amy said.

Amy could only see the tip of his nose. Around her, the room was mirage of light shadows mixed with dark shadows. She took a step to where she thought a light switch would be.

“Abie?”

Amy stopped.

“Abie? Abie. Abie? Aim, Aim, Amyyy. Aaaamy. Amy?”

“Marcus?”, Amy said, “Who’s there?”

Marcus said “What could be in the closet, Amy?”

The closet door's wooden panels sounded like a tree felling to Amy.