The TV

Here is the first of many short stories to come of what I find on the streets of Seattle. I believe these things have a history and I feel compelled to write about it. It's up to you if you read it as fiction or not. I hope you enjoy this story and more to come.
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She adjusted her jeans in the mirror. She tired to avoid the mirror today because the image staring back was more than she could manage. Honesty was not what she needed. She needed a coping mechanism, not the growing lines on her face or the tears staining her pale cheeks reminding her of the pain she would have to heal from.

She noticed the edges giving way to old age. It was a mirror she and he bought together a year ago at an old estate sale. It was ragged, they knew, but it was their first purchase together. Today, it stood against a rot wall next to the dirty window she peered through in confusion and anger.

The city was shrouded in fog that day. It blanketed the tops of the few high rises that pocked the small city where she lived. Today she felt the fog's heaviness. It's demanding presence and the marks it left on her when returning from the outdoors. She could still hear her neighbors next door arguing over the same damn thing. Every day, it seemed endless; no solution she could think of. Why couldn't they understand that and move on like she had? Or had she?

She turned her back to the window. She stared at the apartment they once shared. His imprint still left on the bed. His scent still lingering on the towel he used last night. The tube of toothpaste he neglected to put away with repeated reminders of where it belonged. It didn't bother her so much now.

The kitchen table held the juice they shared that morning. A drop of syrup on the corner of the tile table that drowned the Belgian waffles they loved to make together, as a couple. A couple who said it was forever. A couple who loved the city, loved their apartment, loved the flaws in each other. Now the flaws had no audience. Flaws left to find another.

She sat on the unmade bed, wishing she didn't have to leave for work. How would she concentrate? How would she move forward and pretend he didn't just walk out that door? Picking at her bitten nails and peeling nail polish, she looked across a few feet to the mahogany table where it once sat. The TV now gone, leaving only a dusty frame. A remnant of laughter, tears and the nights where those stupid rabbit ears weren't making the picture any better. He left with a duffel bag full of dirty clothes and that old TV. With tears in her eyes and a determination to keep them from falling, she locked the door behind her and headed to the office.

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He was up early that morning. Not knowing what to say or what to do. Routine can be a friend in times like these. When hurt is too much to bear, routine is always there, a servant to your needs. Something told him it was the end. They both knew it and the funny thing was that he didn't even know why. Why do people fall apart? How do people get together in the first place? It was a miracle they even happened. Good times, bad times. Weren't they supposed to stay together. Were not vows to be taken seriously?

She was still in bed when he made the last batch of waffles they would ever share. The smell woke her up and she entered the kitchen and an awkward silence crept over them, invading the tangy juice they sipped together and the slightly sweet batter of the waffles, making the clanking of the forks so loud it was unbearable. It was decided the previous night. He would leave. She would stay.

He walked out the door, carrying what he wanted to accompany his grand exit. He knew taking the TV would hurt. It was worth nothing and worth everything at the same time.

The foggy day applauded his defeat, carrying him off to other adventures. He left with a sense of failure. He had failed her. He had let her go. Down on Columbia Street, he left it sitting on a cement nook in front of a black-inked graffiti wall. Old, tired of the arguing. Tired of the tears. Let someone else take it. Turn it into art, make a statement. It burdened him to carry it anyway. With deep regret and the urge to run back and touch her again, he headed to the ferry, wondering if she would notice it as she walked to work.