The Heel

I walk across the wooden floor of my lonely home. It sounds as if a heel pounds against the cold, wooden floor, but I’m not the kind to wear sexy shoes. And I look down inspecting my feet. Of course, I’m staring at the same old white sneakers.  Could it be that every time I tread on such comfortable shoes, I perpetuate that frustrating noise?

A series of black smudges darken the floor, they hold on dearly to the wood as I try to rid them with a wash cloth. It’s no use.

I assort my groceries in the fridge. Going organic is mighty expensive these days. I scratch my head at a sweet idea. Well, I could plant my very own garden! That surely sounds exciting. Get my mind off the nuisances of everyday life.

The next morning I glare hard and long at the mess in the fridge. It seems as though I had not gone grocery shopping. Half of the eggs are missing, tomatoes have gone spoiled, and stupid tomato sauce everywhere! Oh my, I’m glad I hadn’t mistaken that for blood.  Though I must admit, it looked almost too red.

I look out at the dazzling, summer day. Sometimes I fear the sun. The way it reddens my pale skin. But today, I am forgiving and chamomile tea sounds delicious to take on the balcony.

I’m by the stove pouring boiling water into my mug when I see two placemats on the dining table. But I’m sure I had only placed one.

Then I hear that disturbing CLICK CLACK of the heel. I watch the wooden floor darken with each step. The noise getting louder. Closer.

The funny thing here is that I’m not moving. I guess it’s not funny if you really think about it.

It stops at the dining table. The chair moves and I watch the placemat gently glide across the table. It all comes to me. How could I forget?

I have a guest living in my home!

I ought to teach her some manners though, don’t you think?