Nervously I tiptoe around the cold house, surveying the plain couches, the flowery wallpaper, the oak wood flowers that creak at the touch of my bare feet. I’ve been in this house before, but it looked different then.
I see the pictures on the mantle above the fireplace that looks like it just came out of a story including Santa Clause. There’s a picture of a blonde girl with braces, beaming next to a pimply teenage boy who looks bored, staring off into the distance. A husband and wife posing in front of a crystal white beach. A black dog and orange cat chasing a raccoon into the forest that borders the backyard I just crossed. They’re on vacation, somewhere warm. People always go on vacation to warm places.
I walk down the hallway, peeking into a room with clothes strewn all over the floor, books and papers flipped and cluttered on an old wooden desk. It looks the same as when I was last here. I sift through the black backpack on my shoulder, grabbing an iPod and speaker and setting them back on the bedside table where they were before.
I walk into the next room, completely opposite from the previous. A pink ruffled bed sheet neat as the beds in hotels, a freshly vacuumed rug, neat, neat, neat. I swing a golden bracelet with little charms on it from my bag and place it back on the jewelry tree on her vanity.
I pad down to the master bedroom, pulling out a heavy watch and a set of matching earrings and a necklace. I place the watch on one bed stand on the left side of the bed, and the earrings and necklace on the other bed stand.
I step back, looking at the things I stole from this family that didn’t do me any harm.
I walk back to the front door, the key still left in the lock.
I look at the couches, the flowery wallpaper the husband must not have liked, the pictures on the mantel. I look at this house. And smile. Why?
Because I’m not a thief anymore, like I was before.
I pull the key out of the door, throwing it onto the white marble shiny kitchen counter, walking through the door and across the backyard, leaving the person I was before back in that house.
With the returned iPod and speaker for the boy who loves Radiohead. With the girls charm bracelet that now has a heart on it that wasn’t there before. With the watch for the husband and father that doesn’t have a low battery anymore. With the wife’s necklace and earrings that have a few extra crystals.
With the people who would accept my apology.
I’m not a thief anymore. I smile, as I get into my car (no it’s not stolen) and drive away.
I’m still smiling.
I see the pictures on the mantle above the fireplace that looks like it just came out of a story including Santa Clause. There’s a picture of a blonde girl with braces, beaming next to a pimply teenage boy who looks bored, staring off into the distance. A husband and wife posing in front of a crystal white beach. A black dog and orange cat chasing a raccoon into the forest that borders the backyard I just crossed. They’re on vacation, somewhere warm. People always go on vacation to warm places.
I walk down the hallway, peeking into a room with clothes strewn all over the floor, books and papers flipped and cluttered on an old wooden desk. It looks the same as when I was last here. I sift through the black backpack on my shoulder, grabbing an iPod and speaker and setting them back on the bedside table where they were before.
I walk into the next room, completely opposite from the previous. A pink ruffled bed sheet neat as the beds in hotels, a freshly vacuumed rug, neat, neat, neat. I swing a golden bracelet with little charms on it from my bag and place it back on the jewelry tree on her vanity.
I pad down to the master bedroom, pulling out a heavy watch and a set of matching earrings and a necklace. I place the watch on one bed stand on the left side of the bed, and the earrings and necklace on the other bed stand.
I step back, looking at the things I stole from this family that didn’t do me any harm.
I walk back to the front door, the key still left in the lock.
I look at the couches, the flowery wallpaper the husband must not have liked, the pictures on the mantel. I look at this house. And smile. Why?
Because I’m not a thief anymore, like I was before.
I pull the key out of the door, throwing it onto the white marble shiny kitchen counter, walking through the door and across the backyard, leaving the person I was before back in that house.
With the returned iPod and speaker for the boy who loves Radiohead. With the girls charm bracelet that now has a heart on it that wasn’t there before. With the watch for the husband and father that doesn’t have a low battery anymore. With the wife’s necklace and earrings that have a few extra crystals.
With the people who would accept my apology.
I’m not a thief anymore. I smile, as I get into my car (no it’s not stolen) and drive away.
I’m still smiling.
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