Okay, what next?
I’ll say I walk back into my house, but this is a lie. It is a damn lie. I do not walk – not me, myself, I, Katy – because Katy is a wife, Katy is a mother, Katy is but one component of a family. This crying humanoid-ish thing, left behind on a curb, this thing that walks into my house, it is none of those things.
And “my house” – well, that is not really true either, is it? My house, ahh, you should have seen it before! My house was full to bursting with toys and cats and photographs, with squeaky rubber balls and boxes and mountains of shoes. But this here house does not contain a one of those things. This here house is huge and it is cavernous and it is practically empty.
You could not even lose your keys in this house.
The walls and the windows are in the same places in this house as in my house, but the similarities end there.
Still, for lack of a better phrase or a more apt description, I will accept the inaccuracies and go with my initial lie and I will say “I walk back into my house.”
I walk over to the couch.
I wait for the demons to come.
I have known loss before. I am familiar with the process. I know how this works. I know the demons are on their way.
Flap flap. Tick tock. I sit there. I stare at my knees.
The demons should be arriving shortly.
Half an hour passes in this way. I check my watch. Hmm. I switch on the television. On the television, I see people who are pretending they are excited about the upcoming election. But this is a lie. This is a damn lie.
I switch the television off again.
I check my watch again.
I get up from the couch in order to make a sandwich. I figure making a sandwich will bring the demons. My reasoning runs thusly: On the sandwich I am making, I am using Woeber’s Sweet and Spicy Mustard (Course Ground Superior Blend). If the bottle is to be believed, this mustard has a Tradition of Excellence for Over 100 Years.
But the thing is, Dana bought me this mustard. She bought it just the other day. Back when she loved me. Or back when I thought she loved me. Back when I was me and this was my house and I believed I had things sort of figured out. But that was a lie. That was a damn lie.
So I make a sandwich and I use loads of Woeber’s Sweet and Spicy Mustard (Course Ground Superior Blend), but the demons do not come.
The demons are noticeably late. Maybe they made a wrong turn in the Heights. There is a lot of construction going on up there these days. Or perhaps they’ve got their claws full already – what with it being political convention season and all – and they simply cannot be bothered with a gangly-limbed humanoid-ish thing with cartoonishly large eyes left behind on a curb.
Probably they are waiting for nightfall.
I consider boarding up all the windows and barricading the doors to keep the demons out, but I know that it does not work like that and besides, there is nothing left in this house to board up windows or barricade doors with.
I wait. Tick tock.
I never knew that clock made noise.
I wait. The demons do not come. I turn on Swans’ new album, The Seer. I have never heard it before and I turn it on and I know that for me, Swans’ new album, The Seer, will forever be the break-up album.
Swans echo through the newly-empty house and it is all rhythmic tribal textures and I wait for the demons to come.
And I dance.
And the demons do not arrive…
And this is how the story that I want to tell you continues…
[**The phrase “Awaiting Spirits and Provisions” comes from the song “Gopher Guts” by Aesop Rock, as will the title of every part of this series.]