Rug

I could never keep them straight. A day didn’t go by when a guy was clung to her hip, brainwashed into thinking that the two of them were going to last while my sister had her eyes on other guys. By the time she was 24, she already had nearly 20 boyfriends, all lasting less than three months before she got bored and tossed them away. She’d introduce one during the beginning of the week and another by the end, so I never tried to learn their names, let alone even try to meet them for that matter. She always wanted my approval, partly for the fact that I had a steady boyfriend of four years before I married him. But also, because she wanted what I had as she couldn’t even figure out who she wanted to be in a relationship with. We were all shocked when she finally had found someone and brought him home, me especially. He had the charm she was looking for, a stable job, and because he knew how to be in a long-term relationship.

Despite just leaving his wife a few months prior, he forked over the money for an engagement ring quickly, which excited her because the only thing she couldn’t hold onto other than guys was a job. To make up for it, she’d help him get ready for work each morning, giving her a sense of purpose for a little while as she’d normally sprawl out onto the couch for hours on end. He’d get up real early, charging into the bathroom to get ready before working his usual 12- hours shifts. He’d get out of the shower and wrap his towel around his waist before eating the waffles she slaved away to make for him, although they were particularly burnt most of time. It was clear he was nice to her and enabled her most of the time, but he at least was kind enough to provide for her ridiculous habits, not complaining in the slightest. He slipped one morning getting out of the shower. She took the rug from the bathroom floor to wash it, forgetting that he wouldn’t be able to see or frankly notice it was gone without his glasses.

But since then, she wakes up before the sun rises to lay out all of his clothes on the chair by their bathroom. Grabbing everything down to his pair of socks, underwear, and cufflinks for his wrinkled suit. She makes his side of the bed, fixing the ruffled-up pillow and smoothening out the wrinkles in the sheets so he would be comfortable before going to bed. Before making the waffles, she checks to make sure the rug is there so he wouldn’t fall again. Scrubbing the floor vigorously to get rid of the lingering blood stain that still plagues the floor, as though she was trying to erase what she caused.

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