At first, I thought the smell emitting from behind my fridge was some kind of food going bad, and that maybe it was just coming in from the fridge itself rather than behind it. I know I’ve dropped scraps before and my house is a notorious hangout for rats and other creatures of ill manor, so it wasn’t a far stretch to think that maybe I had dropped a piece of meat or a hotdog or something that a rat got to and dragged behind there. And if it was just a rat, then eventually the food would disappear and I could go on with my life without having to worry about lugging the old three hundred pound wheel-less Kenmore away from the wall.
I gave it a little more than a week before calling Abby over and asking her to see if she smelled anything funny, but she didn’t really say anything until she got to the kitchen, then she began to gag a little bit. I wasn’t aware that the smell had grown that strong; I suppose I was acclimating myself to it bit by bit over the days, considering how little I left the apartment and how often I slept. It goes from a noxious gas to just the air you breathe in the span of time between your fingers as you twitch under a blanket with your hand wedged under your head against the feather pillow you don’t even like.
I took Abby into the other room and looked down her shirt as she doubled over on the sofa. She was wearing a cute lacy bra, something playful and fun, and something I probably would never even see. It was something so very un-her that it was actually a shock. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had let out a gasp when I saw it, either out of excitement or surprise… Probably a mix of both, but when the sound escaped my throat, she looked up. How I dreaded my vocal chords, wishing immediately that I could do away with them and continue my investigation of Abby and her undergarments.
She had big doe eyes, eyes that I didn’t mind looking at but eyes that I hated making promises to. She came over to check out the smell, I promised to take her dog out for the next week; hey, that’s what neighbors do, they look out for each other. Abby wasn’t really what I would consider a neighbor, either… We were a little more than that, even if she didn’t see eye to eye with me since the breakup. And not the breakup between us, no, no, no, because we never dated. The breakup between her and Vince, after that she never looked at me the same way again and there was a disdainful tone to her voice whenever I asked her to come over, something that sounded a little like dread, but I wouldn’t call it that, no, no.
I called Frank and I was going to ask him to come over to check out the smell, but I got his machine, the chipper voice of his wife bringing down my spirit just a tad, asking that I spare some seconds and leave a message, but it was unimportant to me, because who was Frank to be out when I needed him? Who was he? Too good for me? Too good to come over and check out a little bit of rotten hot-dog or moldy bread? He probably screened the call and like hell I was going to give him the satisfaction of a message, that self righteous son of a gun.
I let it sit for another week, but there came a time when it began to crimp into my pudding. I could taste the smell on the snack-packs I bought regularly at the local mart (they cost more, but I like supporting small business), something that just tasted like off turkey or maybe some expired bologna, if you’ve ever had it, but I wouldn’t recommend it more than once, once to just give you a good feeling so that you know what you’re going to cut out of your life forever and ever, and that’s something you can afford, let me tell you what.
Instead of moving the fridge, a task worthy of Hercules or someone other than me, I decided to invest in a tiny cube freezer that would sit on the counter next to the microwave. I even bought some magnets to make eyes so it could stare across at the Kenmore, accusatory and glaring, something to keep that behemoth in its place in case it should decide to come after me for not checking it out sooner. Of course, that’s crazy, but who knows what’s going on these days? Not me.
I tried Frank again when the smell reached the cube freezer, but Frank wasn’t there. I got his wife, who said she hadn’t seen Frank in a few days, and that she thought he was running off with another woman. She was sobbing when I hung up the phone. I think she was going to say my name, an old pet peeve of mine, so there was a rush of relief that I cut her out at the right moment. What a horrible person.
I moved the Cube (CUBE) to the other room to escape the encroaching smell, which had taken on a lively singularity that can best be describe as a predator slowly stalking its prey. I put the CUBE (Cube) on top of my television, but that bent the antennas down and I couldn’t watch Divorce Court. Instead, I took a nap. I had a dream that I did move the Kenmore, but when I woke up, I was sweating like it was some kind of nightmare.
Abby’s boyfriend disappeared. It was common knowledge around the block that Vince had slapped her around a few times after knocking back one too many Oat Sodas, but she wouldn’t admit to it and there was nothing the law could do. There was some talk in the community about buying him off of her, that guys like him always had a price and all they had to do was raise a few dollars and he would go away, but before they could get the money together (which I myself donated $50 for, because Abby deserves better) he disappeared.
Naturally, the police poked around my house for a while, being her neighbor (how I hate that word, we’re so much more than that!) and it being a known fact that I did not agree with his tactics. I was very vocal with him one night, you see, and I called him a few unkind things and she called the police. But they didn’t find anything in my house, and when they found his stalled out car halfway up the interstate, they stopped looking, they figured he got out and walked.
He was manly and impulsive, like most men I know.
I called Frank’s wife back, to ask her if she’d seen Frank, but she started sobbing again and hung up the phone. I really dislike her.
The smell came again in the night, moving through my living room onto the sofa, where I was resting my eyes (because I cannot sleep anymore; if I sleep, the smell will find me) and staking a claim in my nostrils. It had gotten worse; my eyes were now watering, tears almost streaming down my face, the shower of a crybaby but Mama didn’t raise a crybaby, you hear?
I pulled some work-gloves out of the closet and tried to pry the Kenmore from the wall, but it was too much. I began to empty out the contents of the Kenmore, which were relatively fresh outside of the smell, which was making me gag. I considered briefly calling Abby and asking her to help, but she was probably with another man who would slap her as soon as she let him, or she was with Frank (What if she was? How deliciously ironic would that be.) or she just had better things to do than help me.
I let her dog out the other day and she didn’t even say thank you.
Once the Kenmore was empty, I reached for the back end again and began pulling. It began to very slowly move away from the wall, but soon my arms began to ache. There was enough room for me to wedge myself between the wall and the fridge, but I couldn’t; the smell was too much. I grabbed a dishtowel that Mama had given to her no crybaby son and wrapped it around my face, dampening it first with some tap water to help stifle the stench, and I moved back to the crevice and pushed, my back against Kenmore and my legs against the wall.
It was easier, like a leg-press and I could hardly smell a thing. When Kenmore was five feet or so from the wall, I checked the ground, but there was nothing. I got down on my hands and knees like a little baby (but not a crybaby, don’t start) and looked at the floor, but it was clean. It looked like someone had just swept up, it did.
I was a little frustrated. I had just spent more energy than I wanted, so I grabbed a bottle from the table and casually hurled it at the wall with all my might. There was a loose board in the wall, which fell back as the bottle hit it. I moved over, very slowly (I didn’t want the smell to get me) and began to wiggle the other boards until they were all free. I moved over to the wall, turning on one of the light-switches so I could see inside there.
Well, hullo Frank! I guess you didn’t run away with a woman after all, you just ran straight to the arms of Kenmore. Oh, and who is that behind you? Hello, Vince.
I don’t quite remember how you two got in there, but I like it, it’s very you. Can you two smell anything? I guess not, having been in there so long you must have gotten used to the smell.
But you’re right. It can get lonely.
I wonder what Abby’s doing?
I gave it a little more than a week before calling Abby over and asking her to see if she smelled anything funny, but she didn’t really say anything until she got to the kitchen, then she began to gag a little bit. I wasn’t aware that the smell had grown that strong; I suppose I was acclimating myself to it bit by bit over the days, considering how little I left the apartment and how often I slept. It goes from a noxious gas to just the air you breathe in the span of time between your fingers as you twitch under a blanket with your hand wedged under your head against the feather pillow you don’t even like.
I took Abby into the other room and looked down her shirt as she doubled over on the sofa. She was wearing a cute lacy bra, something playful and fun, and something I probably would never even see. It was something so very un-her that it was actually a shock. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had let out a gasp when I saw it, either out of excitement or surprise… Probably a mix of both, but when the sound escaped my throat, she looked up. How I dreaded my vocal chords, wishing immediately that I could do away with them and continue my investigation of Abby and her undergarments.
She had big doe eyes, eyes that I didn’t mind looking at but eyes that I hated making promises to. She came over to check out the smell, I promised to take her dog out for the next week; hey, that’s what neighbors do, they look out for each other. Abby wasn’t really what I would consider a neighbor, either… We were a little more than that, even if she didn’t see eye to eye with me since the breakup. And not the breakup between us, no, no, no, because we never dated. The breakup between her and Vince, after that she never looked at me the same way again and there was a disdainful tone to her voice whenever I asked her to come over, something that sounded a little like dread, but I wouldn’t call it that, no, no.
I called Frank and I was going to ask him to come over to check out the smell, but I got his machine, the chipper voice of his wife bringing down my spirit just a tad, asking that I spare some seconds and leave a message, but it was unimportant to me, because who was Frank to be out when I needed him? Who was he? Too good for me? Too good to come over and check out a little bit of rotten hot-dog or moldy bread? He probably screened the call and like hell I was going to give him the satisfaction of a message, that self righteous son of a gun.
I let it sit for another week, but there came a time when it began to crimp into my pudding. I could taste the smell on the snack-packs I bought regularly at the local mart (they cost more, but I like supporting small business), something that just tasted like off turkey or maybe some expired bologna, if you’ve ever had it, but I wouldn’t recommend it more than once, once to just give you a good feeling so that you know what you’re going to cut out of your life forever and ever, and that’s something you can afford, let me tell you what.
Instead of moving the fridge, a task worthy of Hercules or someone other than me, I decided to invest in a tiny cube freezer that would sit on the counter next to the microwave. I even bought some magnets to make eyes so it could stare across at the Kenmore, accusatory and glaring, something to keep that behemoth in its place in case it should decide to come after me for not checking it out sooner. Of course, that’s crazy, but who knows what’s going on these days? Not me.
I tried Frank again when the smell reached the cube freezer, but Frank wasn’t there. I got his wife, who said she hadn’t seen Frank in a few days, and that she thought he was running off with another woman. She was sobbing when I hung up the phone. I think she was going to say my name, an old pet peeve of mine, so there was a rush of relief that I cut her out at the right moment. What a horrible person.
I moved the Cube (CUBE) to the other room to escape the encroaching smell, which had taken on a lively singularity that can best be describe as a predator slowly stalking its prey. I put the CUBE (Cube) on top of my television, but that bent the antennas down and I couldn’t watch Divorce Court. Instead, I took a nap. I had a dream that I did move the Kenmore, but when I woke up, I was sweating like it was some kind of nightmare.
Abby’s boyfriend disappeared. It was common knowledge around the block that Vince had slapped her around a few times after knocking back one too many Oat Sodas, but she wouldn’t admit to it and there was nothing the law could do. There was some talk in the community about buying him off of her, that guys like him always had a price and all they had to do was raise a few dollars and he would go away, but before they could get the money together (which I myself donated $50 for, because Abby deserves better) he disappeared.
Naturally, the police poked around my house for a while, being her neighbor (how I hate that word, we’re so much more than that!) and it being a known fact that I did not agree with his tactics. I was very vocal with him one night, you see, and I called him a few unkind things and she called the police. But they didn’t find anything in my house, and when they found his stalled out car halfway up the interstate, they stopped looking, they figured he got out and walked.
He was manly and impulsive, like most men I know.
I called Frank’s wife back, to ask her if she’d seen Frank, but she started sobbing again and hung up the phone. I really dislike her.
The smell came again in the night, moving through my living room onto the sofa, where I was resting my eyes (because I cannot sleep anymore; if I sleep, the smell will find me) and staking a claim in my nostrils. It had gotten worse; my eyes were now watering, tears almost streaming down my face, the shower of a crybaby but Mama didn’t raise a crybaby, you hear?
I pulled some work-gloves out of the closet and tried to pry the Kenmore from the wall, but it was too much. I began to empty out the contents of the Kenmore, which were relatively fresh outside of the smell, which was making me gag. I considered briefly calling Abby and asking her to help, but she was probably with another man who would slap her as soon as she let him, or she was with Frank (What if she was? How deliciously ironic would that be.) or she just had better things to do than help me.
I let her dog out the other day and she didn’t even say thank you.
Once the Kenmore was empty, I reached for the back end again and began pulling. It began to very slowly move away from the wall, but soon my arms began to ache. There was enough room for me to wedge myself between the wall and the fridge, but I couldn’t; the smell was too much. I grabbed a dishtowel that Mama had given to her no crybaby son and wrapped it around my face, dampening it first with some tap water to help stifle the stench, and I moved back to the crevice and pushed, my back against Kenmore and my legs against the wall.
It was easier, like a leg-press and I could hardly smell a thing. When Kenmore was five feet or so from the wall, I checked the ground, but there was nothing. I got down on my hands and knees like a little baby (but not a crybaby, don’t start) and looked at the floor, but it was clean. It looked like someone had just swept up, it did.
I was a little frustrated. I had just spent more energy than I wanted, so I grabbed a bottle from the table and casually hurled it at the wall with all my might. There was a loose board in the wall, which fell back as the bottle hit it. I moved over, very slowly (I didn’t want the smell to get me) and began to wiggle the other boards until they were all free. I moved over to the wall, turning on one of the light-switches so I could see inside there.
Well, hullo Frank! I guess you didn’t run away with a woman after all, you just ran straight to the arms of Kenmore. Oh, and who is that behind you? Hello, Vince.
I don’t quite remember how you two got in there, but I like it, it’s very you. Can you two smell anything? I guess not, having been in there so long you must have gotten used to the smell.
But you’re right. It can get lonely.
I wonder what Abby’s doing?
Comment