Attempted murder

It was day nine or ten living on the basement couch. Hours had been spent staring at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. I knew every flaw in everything in the room. I saw the cracks in the ceiling. I saw the holes in the wall. I traced the outline of missing parts of floor tile with my eyes. I didn’t care about any of it at all.

The duplex on 33rd Street in Lincoln, Nebraska had paper thin walls. I could hear the neighbors’ conversations whenever I was in the basement. My six foot long couch was placed crookedly in the basement. It rested on the cold floor of alternating green and gray tile. Getting off the couch for anything was a chore. My feet were always cold down there. I tucked my heels under my bald eagle blanket and stared at the ceiling.

The television buzzed with insignificant drivel. The sound was not comforting or inviting. I have given up changing channels days ago. The remote control continued to lay upside down on the floor where it had fallen out my hand and crash landed on the bleak, uninviting tiles below.

Plates of partially eaten food were scattered in an arc about an arm’s length away from the couch. I watched ants as they came and went. They were eager to eat what I did not want and I was happy to oblige. It was the only thing I was happy about, or, rather the apathy so great that none of it mattered. The ants were simply something different to look at before the sleep that comes with hopelessness arrived to take me away again.

I watched all the ants as far as I could see them, as far as my eyes could follow without moving my head before I returned to emptiness and somber din of the lonely basement.

An ant walked in front of me. It was not interested in my food. It crawled inside a smokey gray, plastic, Tupperware cup tipped over on the floor. It had a liquid in it a few days ago. The red stains indicated Kool-Aid. I could no longer remember what, exactly, I drank. It didn’t matter and I didn’t care.

The ant crawled round and round inside the cup like a mouse on its wheel. Then, it crawled just fast enough that it nearly made it all the way around before it fell back onto the inside of the cup. I rolled over on the couch just enough to turn the cup over and trap the ant inside.

The ant’s body became distorted through the smokey gray. Depending on how it moved, some parts of its body were bigger than others. I reached my left index and middle fingers out just far enough to pull the cup closer, but kept it on the ground and the ant trapped.

The ant ran quickly around the sides of the cup. It climbed to the bottom of the cup. It fell to the ground. I watched its antennae move around. I wondered what it was thinking, if it had a plan devised to escape.

“There is no escape from this,” I said to it. “You’re trapped here just like me.”

I breathed deeply and shifted my body slightly on the couch. The ant kept circling the sides of the cup. Each time it fell back to the cold, hard floor, it tried again. Each time, it moved slower than before.

Eventually, the ant gave up climbing the sides of the cup. It crawled slowly back and forth around the bit of floor available inside the cup.

Then, it stopped. Its antennae twitched ever so slightly. It moved lethargically to the edge of the cup and ceased. It had accepted its fate. In a few moments, it would be no more.

I cocked my head sideways and looked at the ant. Soon, it would no longer do ant things. It would no longer walk. It would no longer bring food back to its nest. It would no longer be a member of its ant society.

It twitched. I stared at it. It twitched again.

I reached my hand out and removed the cup, pulling the cup back up to the couch.

The ant didn’t move. I blinked. I sat partially up. The ant moved, maybe a millimeter. Then a centimeter. It shifted quickly back and forth on the ground. It still didn’t want my food.

The ant continued on whatever path it needed that eventually leads back to its nest. It disappeared into the farthest, darkest part of the basement.

I sat up and removed the bald eagle blanket that had been my comfort for so long. I gathered as many dishes as I could carry, climbed a dozen stairs, and walked into the kitchen. I left the dishes in the kitchen sink and took a shower for the first time in seven days.

The sun blazed through the bathroom window. I squinted and looked away.

I let the shampoo get in my eyes to see if I could still feel something, anything. The tears flowed quickly.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and began to start the day anew.