MOViNG iN
How my ex slowly took over and I loved every second of it
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
Her invasion was subtle. Tender.
The kind that doesn’t feel like trespassing until it’s too late.
A hair tie here. Bobby pins there. A pack of makeup remover wipes under the sink. The mug with a chipped handle tucked away in the cabinet.
Then it became more daring. Her favorite blue sweatshirt with a faded white LONDON word mark on the front draped on my Breur style chairs, the ones with the criss cross pattern. Just in case she got cold, because I loved to keep the apartment freezing (according to her).
I found a dog eared copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover below my glass coffee table, placed on top of the other rows of books beneath it. Tucked away near the window (in between the gap made by the small cream colored sofa chair) I found a pair of small gold hoop earrings. That was a risky one, knowing my cat (my Sophs) liked to slap anything that wasn’t bolted down.
Then the territory marking became a full on assault. The bookshelf speakers I kept by the floor to ceiling windows facing the park were commandeered by her. Elvis filling the space whenever she was over. The sweatshirt wasn’t enough...she would wrap herself in the bright blue throw blanket and eventually began fiddling with the temperature itself. Never warm enough.
Lipstick prints on the dirty wine glasses in the sink. Mascara smudge on the pillowcase. Panties in my night table. She hardly wore them anyways, so what was the point? I woke up one lazy Sunday missing her and that’s when I realized why.
Spiraling lilac colored candle sticks adorned the small round white dining table, the one that came up like water spurting out of fountain. Fresh flowers (always lilies) in the vase by the side table where the keys would be dumped into a wooden receptacle. Pink ribbons tied on the bronze floor lamp that towered over the dining table, the cherry on top of the warm ambient lighting.
She moved in and the takeover was completed. It was then that she flaunted her new regime with the most devastating of displays.
We glued a few mirror squares to the back of the closet that was to the right of the bed, the bed covered in tan linen sheets. I came home one day and found that she had taped pieces of construction paper around the mirrors, framing them.
They were colored in with marker and contained affirmations. Affirmations all about me, showing me she knew me better than anyone had. Better in some ways than I knew myself. I sat down then and there, scissors in hand, markers out, and danced the domestic duet.
It was then that I realized why I never stopped her. A part of me sensed that her annexation was the truest union I had ever experienced. My space had come alive and the newfound clutter was simply the texture of love.
