GENRE: Women's Fiction
The 1920’s Hollywood-style Spanish Colonial sits abandoned, waiting for me to pick up its final inhabitant. The moving trucks are gone, Pepsi cans and discarded cardboard litter the yellowing lawn. I crack open the heavy wood door and am met with remnants of unhooked electronics, dangling wires like an octopus on the losing end of a fight with a shark. Scuffs on the exposed walls make me want to retrieve a paintbrush and touch up the paint.
“Claire?” I call into the silence, the house seems so much larger unfurnished. “Claire? Are you in here?”
I step into the empty house, running my fingers across the dusty walls, leaving behind a road of my travels. No one’s bothered to vacuum the floor since the furniture was removed and Styrofoam popcorn litters the Berber carpet. Deep indents mark the floor where her furniture once lived and light from the curtain-less window floods the room. I walk to the back of the house, crunching across packing material, and peek out the window overlooking the pool. Light filters through the dirty glass as I squint my eyes to block the sun’s sharp rays.
A solitary figure sits by the pool, smoking a cigarette, an empty martini glass on a table next to the only remaining chair. Her Christian Louboutins dangle over the edge of her chair, above the pool, precariously close to the water. She’s wearing a one-piece swimsuit embellished with so much metal if she tried to swim she’d drown.