Eszter Forvith
Doing something for the last time is a weird feeling. People often don’t contemplate whether what they do, they are doing for the last time, but I don’t think this is an everyday occasion, so it’s no crime to get a little overwhelmed. As my hand hovers over the keyhole, I wonder if this necessarily has to be the last time, although there is no logical reason to come back again after this.
“What are you waiting for, the door isn’t going to open itself.” A smile tugs at my lips at the sound of the familiar voice. “I was just waiting for you, you are late.” I turn the key in the hole, and as I push the door open, the all-too-familiar smell of the two-bedroom apartment hits me. The smell of cheap air-scenter embedded in the walls, the delicious invite of coffee that I left in the brewer twenty minutes ago, probably still hot, a fresh breeze lightly caressing my cheek, carrying the scent of the sweet lilies I planted on the small balcony this spring, the smell of childhood and play, the smell of disappointment and tears and the smell of a bittersweet goodbye.
“It’s weird you know, this is the first time I’ve ever been here, but it’s the last for both of us. Why have you never invited me?”
“There isn’t much to do here, your house is better.” I step into the kitchen, simple but perfect in its own way. A small room illuminated by one big window at the end, cabinets and counters lining the walls and a neat little kitchen table just at the end, under the window with four chairs, fitting perfectly, not too tight, just enough space to leave the room homey. “The kitchen is clean; we’ll only have to take the coffee brewer. There are also two more bags in the living room, and with that we’ll be good to go.” I gesture with my hand towards one of the rooms, and as I walk along the short corridor connecting the rooms, I glance upon the walls all too bare with the pictures gone.
“Wow, you packed up the whole house by yourself? That’s impressive.” says my friend as she takes a peek into the other rooms.
“Well yeah, but a little help would have been nice.”
The living room is silent, except for the light breeze coming in from the balcony, which I find a bit too cold now, so I swiftly close the door.
“You didn’t say you needed any.” She moves to take one of the bags, and I take the other, slowly making our way back towards the front door, but as I glance back behind my shoulder, I find that she has stopped and is now staring at a closed white door. “Is this the pantry?” she asks.
I nod. “But don’t go in, the smell will fill the whole complex.”
“So, you didn’t get rid of the mold?” She sounds surprised and rightly so, that mold has been there for a year at least, and it only grew and grew with time in the small room.
I shrug. “Too expensive.”
She looks at me then, concerned. “Yeah, but the mold in your home can really affect your health.
“I know.” I grab the bag that I had just put down and make my way towards the entrance.
“It will be bad for the people moving in too, you could at least warn them, it would be the right thing to do.” I turn back, a bit faster than intended. “I don’t want to talk about the mold and it’s none of your business anyways.” It came out a little harsh, and I didn’t want to spend my last minutes in this house arguing. “Sorry.” I don’t expect an answer and I don’t get one. It’s getting late, and with the passing of the sun, the shadows in the corners grow longer and darker, the house seemingly covered in black silk. Dark and empty, a great last memory of the place. I close the door behind me, not looking back, not wanting to, only having a new house in mind, one without mold.