Angus, Alone
Day 0, the Beginning
As he shut the door, Angus felt the wrongness of the place. This was their home. It was theirs. But now half of them was gone, and it was only his. No one had bothered to tell that to the apartment, though.
It was immediately an assault on fried nerves. He'd been so numb through the funeral, but the anaesthetic was gone now. This was his new reality. Every day he would wake up in this place and it would remind him of every way he'd come up short. He had not been enough to beat the cancer that ravaged Bennett. He had not been enough to figure out how to solve that ancient and unsolvable puzzle. And now, he wasn't enough to fill this space.
When he was still making the funeral arrangements, he'd thought maybe taking the photos down would make this easier. Bennett's face wouldn't be smiling at him as he arranged a cremation. It seemed respectful.
Now the walls seem to impose the absence front and center. "Remember, we know the truth," they seemed to say. "We saw the life lived here and even if you take those pictures down, we will remind you of each moment. You are less, now."
So he painstakingly hung the photos back where they'd hung for years. And he was forced to relive those times, the laughter and the joy. And then to sharply remember that was in the past.
An hour and a lifetime later, he collapsed on the couch, the bed feeling too far away and too familiar. He thought he cried. He wasn't sure anymore, assuming that his eyes would permanently be bloodshot and tears would stain his cheeks like tattoos.
"This is the beginning of the rest of your life," he thought. "This is who are now. Angus, the widower. Angus, who was Bennett's husband. Angus, alone."
