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Carly was good at building fences, erecting walls, barriers and dividers for all the parts of her life. Fences to keep things out, walls to keep them in.
Screens on all the windows, to keep out the bugs. Iron bars to keep out the thugs. Lines of wire and barbs and spiky things, set in fences and stakes, rows and rows, all circling inward towards the house. Through the windows, between the iron you could see fields of metal and green. Still, she did not feel safe. She had an intruder, a secret dweller, a housemate that she wished would crawl beneath the floorboards or stay sequestered in the attic like a thumping poltergeist. But she was here, that other woman, with her sneering glances, her hysterical laugh and her inability to pick up after herself. Carly was constantly gathering shoes and drinking glasses from the living room, towels off the bathroom floor. She was the unwilling maid and guardian. She never received thanks or even a glimmer of kindness, only a sarcastic snort or a derisive glare. They tried to avoid each other, keeping a floor or room apart at all times. Carly would make two sandwiches, leave one on the kitchen counter and later only the crumbs on the plate would remain. She was surprised her guest didn’t lick up the tiny bits of bread, given her girth, but that glutton never asked for seconds. Instead, she raided the fridge at night, placing the empty cartons and containers back inside for Carly to find and replace. The other woman was never confrontational; instead, she manipulated, she raided, like a thief in the night. Carly would find her clothes worn, stretched out, wadded up and thrown into the bottom of the hamper. Jewelry began coming up missing, to be returned with the chains knotted, earring backs missing. Her dearly departed mother’s fine china, which Carly handled with the utmost reverence, began developing cracks and chips. Then the day came when the most sacred of sacred things disappeared. The other woman let her dogs out. They ran away, the gates pushed open in the dark. Her only companions, the only ones who loved her, her faithful hounds, corrupted and disposed of by that woman, that vile witch. Carly decided enough was enough. She would bring her fences and walls indoors, keep the covetous wench away from her. For three days non-stop she hammered and drilled, putting up boards and barbed wire over doorways, completely blocking the other woman upstairs. Maybe she would starve. Perhaps she would leap from the second story window and break her leg, or even better, her neck. She was exhausted, callouses on her fingertips, abrasions on her knuckles, her body drenched with sweat, dirt and sawdust, but it was well worth it. She had her bunker, her house, or at least part of it, back. A shower, some soup and sleep were well deserved. She grabbed her towel, her long flannel nightgown and her slippers and walked with head held high to the bathroom. The door closed solidly behind her. Bending down to take off her stockings, idly thinking to herself she must replace them as they were her last pair and they now had a run, she heard a noise. A familiar noise. A creak of floorboards, the shuffle of a foot. Turning, she came face to face with her, the other woman. Fat, wrinkled, hideous, grinning at her in malicious glee. Carly lost her temper, flew at the poisonous female with her fists, pummeling the mouth that smirked at her, the nose that turned up in disdain, the eyes that narrowed and burned. She pounded and pounded until the blood ran down to her elbows. The other woman never fought back, never uttered a word. When her rage had been spent, Carly looked down. Beneath the puddling crimson lay the other woman, staring back, her face cracked into splinters of glass. |
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