His House - REVISION

He likes being in the kitchen. It’s his favorite room. It’s where the family gathers. He looks around at all the nice things they have. Cherry cabinets, hand rubbed. Travertine floors, rugged, appealing. Granite counter tops, hard and sturdy. The appliances are new. Top notch. Look at that oven. He can almost smell the hot, sweet aroma filling the kitchen. Chocolate cake. His favorite. His wife is such a good cook. She spoils him. The pots he gave her for Christmas a few years ago hang from the rack over the stove. Reminds him of broken tree branches.

The den is almost perfect. The big screen TV. The wormy maple walls. The natural stone fireplace. He can’t wait for winter so they can build a fire. The smell of logs burning in a fireplace is comforting. He remembers that smell from childhood. The couch is a little old. His wife wants to get rid of it. But he likes it. It is broken in in just the right places. He smiles at the stack of board games on the coffee table. He loves to play Hungry Hippo with his son. He’s so cute when he wins. Does a little dance around the room. They need to find a better place to store the games though.

The smell of fresh paint fills the air in his son’s room. Some don’t like that smell. He thinks it smells wonderful. New. It’s the perfect shade of blue. His son asked for blue. The walls were white before. Dingy and scuffed. He frowns at the messy sheets on the bunk beds. He thinks the beds should be made every day. His wife disagrees. She teases him about it. Says why bother when you are just going to mess them up in a few hours anyway. He doesn’t know how his son can even sleep in his bed. It’s covered with teddy bears. He walks over and picks one up off the floor. He gently places it on the bed with the others.

The phone rings. A loud voice announces his name. The call is for him. He walks toward the door, stops and turns around. His eyes scan the room before he leaves. Everything is in order. The sheets on his bed are smooth and tucked tightly under the mattress. A perfect “hospital corner.” The thin blanket hangs exactly one inch from the floor on all sides. A small picture frame sits on the plain nightstand. He walks over and turns it slightly to the right. The faded 5x7 picture shows a smiling woman hugging a young child. A boy. He checks the blinds. They are open half way. He makes sure the bottom slat lines up with the notch he has carved on the window frame.

In the hall the smell of fresh paint fills the air. It’s strong, but he likes it. It smells new. A man in paint splattered coveralls stands on a ladder outside his door. He’s painting the walls white. A canvas tarp covers the linoleum floors. A row of doors lines each side of the hall. As he walks by he stops at each door on the right and looks in. He ignores those on the left. He only looks in the left side doors on his way back to his room. He walks up to the counter where a woman is waiting for him. “Sign here Mr. Smith,” she says as she hands him a pen and clipboard. He signs the phone log and picks up the phone. It’s his sister. She calls everyday. As he listens to the sound of her voice another phone rings. The woman behind the counter answers, “Thank you for calling Woodbridge Mental Institute. How may I direct your call?”