She’s mad. And I know how she gets when she’s mad.
She’s funneled all that energy into putting up the lights.
The windows, the entrance, the porch, and the tree in front of her house… They all glow.
There’s a wreath on the door and lit candles inside the house. You can see them scattered around the rooms all the way to the kitchen.
And I see her coming from the back, holding something in her hand––it’s probably the baseball bat––which says a lot about her mood.
Sure the baseball bat is not for me. But it’s still a sign that I’m not welcomed.
Just to make sure my suspicions are correct, I park my car in front of her place, cross the road, and make a beeline for my house.
I unlock the door and enter my home.
The place is clean. Everything is in order.
I turn on the lights and saunter across. There’s no one here. Not even the security detail.
Oh, yeah… I remember. I gave him a few days off.
I take the stairs and step onto the second floor before pushing my bedroom door open. I look around. There is not one object misplaced.
Not only did she take all her stuff. She made sure the place looked like no one had lived here ever.
She can be so cruel sometimes.