When Jeremy died, and I first entered the rental that we shared without him, what made me break down wasn't the silence, actually, now that I think about it.
It was the messy pile of towels outside of the shower laundry bin that got to me the most. I had been harping on him about putting the towelsinsidethe damn thing, rather than next to it.
After they pronounced his death in the emergency room after the mangled car wreck, all I could stare at were the towels, still piled up.
I didn't touch them for three weeks. Sometimes, I sat by the them to cry, apologizing for ever nagging him... asking for him to come back. Begging him topleasecome back.
I sniff, sighing with a groan as I think back to the gym. Why does Ryder’s gaze have to linger on me, or why does he have to start talking to me, or asking about Luke? Or defend my honorafterbuying me coffee? Didn’t he build an impenetrable wall between us over the last few weeks?
Surely, I have him figured out all wrong…
I glance at my house, readying myself to face another night alone. Night is the worst, because it just feels like a prison box, where at least during the day the sun is out, and I can see a backyard—
I frown.
The front porch is crooked.
I exit my car and walk around to examine the back of the house, not shutting my car door all the way. The wooden board covering the hole is now half-sunken into the ground, and that damn hole is bigger. I can even see the smallest fissure leading right to my home, which isdefinitelycrooked. It clicks—is that why it’s been so hard to shut doors lately? Even the closet door won’t shut properly anymore.
My neighbor comes out onto her porch, her screen door creaking as it opens. “Holy fucking tits,” she exclaims.
“Um, what is happening?” I ask with panic in my voice. Surely it’s not an actual sinkhole? The hole in my yard is too small for that, but it’s definitely not a gopher hole.
“Someone call the cops,” the old lady instructs, pointing at my backyard.
Another neighbor walking on the street responds, “What the fuck you saying, Marge? Don’t call the damn cops! Why’re we always calling the cops around here?”
“Well,Billy,” she retorts, hurrying to her door, glaring at the pudgy bald man on the sidewalk, “that’s a goddamn sinkhole!”
My heart drops.
“A what?” Billy asks like she’s crazy.
Holy shit. Why didn’t I pay more attention? Was it like this last night? I pull out my phone, taking a few pictures before calling anyone. My heart races with a different rhythm, my stomach twisting with a raging nausea.
Marge exits, cradling her small chihuahua. “C’mon, Nacho. Let’s go.” She gets off the porch, a bright green jacket thrown over her.
I dial 911 after getting the pictures.
“Yeah, I don’t know if this is an emergency or not—”
Marge butts in, “Yeah, it’s a fucking emergency! Could’ve killed my dog!” She kisses the shaking chihuahua, his bulging eyes peering in two different directions while his tongue hangs out. “Is okay baby, Mommy’s here.”
I add, “Yes, that was my neighbor... I don’t know how to say this, but I think there’s actually a sinkhole. I mean, it’s small. Like the size of a small tire, basically. But thereisa fissure leading right to my house that I don’t remember seeing this morning.”
My hands are shaking from adrenaline, and I keep scanning the area as if I might see someone I know, anyone to help me through this. There’s no one but Marge, Billy, and all the other neighbors I’ve never formally met. Many look like good people, but they’re still strangers to me.
The operator says, “Ma’am, what’s your location?”
“222 Walnut Street.”
“And it’s asinkhole?”
“I mean, I called the city like two weeks ago. There’s a hole forming. They told me it’s old pipes from the sixties, but didn’t seem concerned. The hole is really deep, too… I don’t remember ever seeing them come out to check it, but my house is now totally crooked—oh no, the roof is caving in!”
We all scram away as the deep groan of concrete, stone, and wood sounds like an elephant busting down a giant door, the roof over my bedroom collapsing. The walls are still standing, but the roof now stands out like it’s been hit by something.
“I’m sending a unit over.”
