Outlet

I wrote this piece for a creative writing class. I went out of my comfort zone and tried to write about a difficult subject. I think the word limit got in the way! I'm looking forward to exploring these kinds of issues further in (longer!) future works.

Outlet

I stepped out of Phillip’s truck, watching where my feet landed; the new wheels he’d gotten for it were much too tall. I got the feeling I’d end up breaking my face because of it someday. We drove out for an hour to get to a dumpy furniture outlet. There were plenty of them near my house, but once we’d gotten there, I realized why he chose this one. It looked like the kind of place that was kept open through money that it laundered, not money it brought in; a place untouched since the 80s, with huge, dusty windows coated in a thin layer of dust whose purpose was to block out the sun along with posters advertising their liquidation sale. We had gotten everything we needed to move in together, thanks to mother A bed, a dining table, chairs, shelves. The one thing we couldn’t find was a good couch.

    “Have you been here before?” I asked. Phillip snaked his arm around my waist and I let him lead me into the furniture store. 

    “Yeah, a couple of times. They’ve always had good prices.”

    It was busier than I'd expected. The fabricated allure of discounted prices had attracted everyone within ten miles the same way a radio tower sends out waves. Families moved in herds. Children broke off from their groups like streaks of water, trailing around the store aimlessly. Phillip's arm tightened around me as we headed to the back, he focused on a particular display. 

    “Ain’t this one nice?” Phillip pointed to a red-and-white plaid couch, big enough for two. “It’s got that classic look.”

    “It’s a bit small,” I said.

    “We don’t need anything bigger. It’ll be a pain in the ass draggin’ it inside.”

    Behind the couch was an antique vanity, a hand-carved piece whose baroque frame held up a mirror. The wild vines, abstract leaves and curls seemed to call for anyone, anyone at all to look at them, sprawling from all sides. I watched Phillip through the mirror while he sat down on the couch.

    “And it’s comfortable, too. I could sit here forever.” He shifted in his seat, crossing one of his legs over the other. “C’mere.”

    “I trust you.”

    “No you don’t. Come and try it. Stop lookin’ at that dusty thing for a second, alright?” 

    I walked over to sit down, pressing my legs together to avoid knocking my knees against his. The couch’s foam was too stiff, and if it were any smaller, we’d be pressed up against each other. I looked over at him. “I guess it’s fine.”

    “You say that a lot, don’tcha?” He asked.

    “Say what?”

    “‘I guess.’” He gave me a dry smile. “That’s alright. You ain’t gotta worry your pretty head about things. That’s what you got me for now.”

    “What about that one over there?” I tilted my head in the direction of a black leather couch off to our left. It looked like something that would show up in Better Homes & Gardens.

    “S’probably heavy as hell. Besides, think about how cold that’ll get in the winter. Nah,” he mumbled, waving a dismissive hand at it.

    “You think this couch is convenient,” I said.

    “Ain’t no reason to make things complicated. ‘Keep it simple’ is what I think. Why spend so much time lookin’ if you’ve got a perfectly good thing right here, huh?” He rested his hand on my waist again. “Things’re already hard enough.”

    “That’s true.”

    “This one,” he patted the couch’s arm, “Reminds me of the one your momma had at her place, God rest her soul. She had a good eye for decor. That came in handy when she matched me up with you,” he cooed into my ear. He squeezed my cold hand with his own large, warm fingers.

    I made myself lean back into the couch. “Phillip, if you weren’t here, with me, buying a couch with me right now, what would you be doing?”

    He let out a chuckle. “You mean, what would I be doing if I weren’t with you?”

    Clasping my hands together, I shrugged. 

    “Don’t be askin’ silly questions, girl,” the smile on his lips stretched itself into a grin. “This is where I belong now. Where we both belong. Your momma knew that, now we know it.” Phillip’s mustache brushed my cheek as he placed a too-rough kiss on it. “Wait here. I’m gonna go ask about the price on this thing. It’s perfect for us.”

    The springs creaked quietly as he stood up and walked into the miniature labyrinth of furniture displays. My eyes landed on a mahogany rocking chair he walked by, the rustic kind that swayed languidly, knowing that’s all they were meant for. Mom had one of those kinds on the porch. It lasted throughout her 30 year marriage, a gift from her in-laws for her 17th birthday. There was a point in time where I couldn’t imagine getting married at all, but here I was. That rocking chair would be on my porch now. 

    “Yes,” I mumbled no one in particular, “Perfect for us.”