was both strange and relaxing to slip into his clothes, trying them one by one up the neckline of a V-neck on my breasts too big or turning a skirt just floating in my size. His shoes were piled indiscriminately in a trash bag. I wear two sizes above and did not want to give them to anyone.
A little frost on the window hardened over the end of the day and my breath came out in swirls about the room like a timely cigarette. The radiators have been extinct in recent days does bothers me not. The succession of fittings even let a fine sweat on my upper body heavy with the smell of my perfume. I can link the actions before the ice cabinet quickly, not in haste but driven by a frenzy. I expected nothing of my reflection that reflected my image decked out in her clothes. Just my smile that I did not know if he was embarrassed or victorious, a bit of both I think, noting the halves of the bed I shared with me standing three paces in front. I kissed on her satin comforter with a neighbor who did not expect so much after having helped bring some of his furniture to the dump. I did not dare go to open his coat to me twist and shout in his sheets unchanged since he was removed.
It was only last week and I felt to reopen his room after having lived a long life away from his apartment, outside the city where I was chained dismal jobs to maintain it and pay his fucking drugs.
His phone blue, matching the monochrome of the room, took the dust. She was the only one to use it, rarely. By entering here, there was scurrying around its possessions, its properties. A small territory and poorly maintained she left reluctantly pressed by all that for her was an obligation. Decency forbade him just the chamber pot and the cat bath, and I sometimes think in his robes and dressing gowns. Rarely wearing out. I was his best domestic and I dispatched his daily business without fail, I was too afraid to die.
The bells of St. Benignus struck the hour. I sent a silent farewell to the phone, in bed and mirrors that showed me in his coat-frock favorite of a pleasant green bottle, I Humai a remnant of its fragrance of ylang-ylang hung on his shirt-collar pearl gray cashmere ball and I left my handbag wood sample cade pure juice that I opened and poured by rubbing against the jamb of the door. It hunts witches at every turn and I did not want her jouât me a new turn, even now that I had conquered.
Uncle Jacques, eager to collect the umpteenth time at the foot of his bed, appeared in the doorway.
Terror legibly on his face was another victory.
I published this the first time on the blog Lifelines.
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