The ride to my building was quick and silent but once I stepped into the lobby, everything slowed down to heavy, aching seconds. It was like a roller coaster climbing to its first peak, every grind forward loaded with anticipation and the knowledge these were the last moments of relative calm before the splashdown, the next upswing, the spin and whirl. It was anticipation and it was also relief—I'm getting what I came for—and the end of all my staid predictability before Zelda upended that too.
Low light and the rhythmic hum of the washing machine greeted me when I stepped inside and locked the apartment door behind me with a gentle twist of the deadbolt. I leaned back against the door, the key ring still hooked around my fingers as I listened for Zelda.
The cobalt blue flats abandoned near the bench informed me she was here and that only heightened my awareness of the roller coaster plunge to come. She was here and I had to find her if I wanted my world turned upside down.
Once free from my suit coat and shoes and my pockets emptied, I surveyed the living room. The television was off, the throw blankets artfully arranged over the back of the sofa. I moved toward the bedroom but she wasn't in there either. The bed was in the same crisply made condition we'd left it, the adjoining bath dark and empty. Save for those cute shoes near the door, it seemed like she'd existed only in my imagination.
I retraced my steps, casting gazes all over for signs of Zelda. She could've stepped out. That was reasonable. She could've gone to the local market or the drugstore. Maybe the pizza place around the corner. It was late but not outrageously so, not too late to run out for a few things.
I turned in a circle when I reached the kitchen and trailed my palm over the stone countertops. Why wasn't she right here, exactly where I wanted her, when I wanted her?
Then I caught sight of the hall leading to the guest room. More often than not I overlooked that section of my apartment. It served only as a crash pad for Linden or my parents when they had occasion to come into the city and wanted to avoid a long ride home at night. Magnolia too, before she and Rob found a place in the South End. And now it was Zelda's—though she never did sleep in there.
Restlessness fractured the quiet still as I marched in that direction, my socked feet rasping against the rug, my fingertips pressed to the wall as if I was searching for a pulse. The door was ajar, a soft slice of light melting into the hall. I flattened my palm on the panel, eased it open. There I found Zelda face down on the foot of the bed, still dressed in that aggravating skirt and blouse. Her head was pillowed on her arms while one foot dangled off the side. My discombobulated beauty.
I lost track of how long I stood there, watching while she slept. It was more than a minute and less than an hour, and I regretted none of it as there weren't many moments where I'd been able to catch Zelda at rest. She was always the first one awake and more than that, she was always in motion. Always occupied with something. Rare were the instances when she was stationary long enough for me to get a good look.
She must've been exhausted to fall asleep like this. Not the discombobulated part—she was an eternal state of glorious disarray—but in here, dressed for work as if she'd intended to sit down though found herself bowled over by sleep instead.
As I scanned the small room, the evidence seemed to mount in support of that theory. Her luggage was open on the floor with tidy piles of clothing stacked on one side, books on the other. I counted three pairs of jeans, five t-shirts, a plum cardigan, two dresses, and a few more of those crepey blouses—and at least eight academic journals and four beat-up textbooks.
A dark gray skirt and short-sleeved pink sweater were laid outside beside the books, her choices for tomorrow. Both of her phones—the beat-up one she hadn't turned on and the one I'd insisted she have—sat on the floor beside her hot pink sneakers. All of it combined into a statement that screamed temporary.