Part 8
Roger has a steady routine. He uses the LTD to get around town, and if you visited his house you wouldn’t see his Prius. He’s not sure where he parked it. It’s not in the garage or the driveway. He doesn’t miss it, though, and hasn’t thought about it in weeks.
He shops for groceries every week or so, and more and more finds his basket includes products that don’t scan, or can’t be scanned because the barcode is missing from the packaging. He watches television in the evenings. Mostly shows that must be reruns, because they’re old. He has very occasionally wondered why reruns seem to have become most of what’s on TV, but he doesn’t focus on the question. He likes reruns.
He’s comfortable in the house he grew up in, that he inherited, that he owns. He uses the old wall phone when he needs to contact anyone, which doesn’t happen that often. The phone even rings occasionally, but when he answers there’s nobody on the line. As he answers, he wonders who the call is for. He momentarily feels odd wondering about this, because he lives alone. Even so, he often has the sense that there’s somebody in the next room, or down the hall, or upstairs or downstairs (wherever he isn’t), but he no longer goes to check. There’s never anyone really there. He can’t quite tell what it is that makes him think there is somebody there; a sound, a tremor in the floor, even maybe a faint aroma.
He remembers his mother’s favorite perfume. Not the name of it, but the aroma itself. Sometimes he thinks he catches a whiff of it in the hallway, or when he first enters the kitchen. He thinks it’s probably because all of his parents’ belongings are still in the house. He’s never cleaned it out, not really.
Some evenings he dines on a casserole or a stew that he doesn’t recall putting in the oven or the crock pot, but it’s always delicious, so he reasons that he must have. The meals taste just like his mother used to make.
His days feel full, although anyone watching might wonder what, if anything, he ever really does. He falls asleep easily each night, having no worries and really, if he considered it, no particular cares. If there’s a light footstep in the hallway, or he seems to hear a faucet turned on downstairs, or the flush of a toilet, well, it’s an old house after all. Just down the road from the Averys. They visit once in a while, and Mrs. Avery always brings something from her kitchen. Just the last time they visited, Mr. Avery said something about having missed Roger last Tuesday. It didn’t make much sense, because they hadn’t visited at all last week. But Mr. Avery was pretty old, after all, and maybe he got confused. Roger is sure he has never visited the Avery house. At least not recently. Maybe not ever, although he does seem able to picture exactly what the house looks like inside.
The evenings are darkening earlier, now that autumn is beginning to give way to winter. It’s occurred to Roger that he should look in the garage to see if he has a set of snow tires for the LTD. He’s had the thought a couple of times, but hasn’t actually checked. He still resists going into the garage. He’s not sure why. He hasn’t any feelings about the tool shed, though, and he’s making sure the snow shovel is easily at hand when he hears the phone ring inside the house.
He starts to rush in to answer it, then stops, remembering that there’s never anyone on the line. He turns back to the pile of garden tools when, probably as a trick of the autumn air, it sounds like someone in the house answered the phone. Roger dismisses it as he finds the snow shovel in the pile. He fishes it out and leans it next to the door. It won’t be long before the first snow. He wonders what he’ll be getting for Christmas this year.
