a VALENTINE's short story

original illustration by Aubrey Prunty.

Dhurrie

by Zach Spiering

They laid me out on the cold hardwood floor together. It was comfortable and dignified, quite unlike my experience when they brought me home hanging out the side window of a Volvo. 

I was slightly offended when they stuck that hideous black thrift-store coffee table on me, but it had to do. The walls above were sparsely decorated, but tasteful. He double-checked the angles, making adjustments as necessary. She sat down on the sofa, taking in my delicate hues of gold, blue, and maroon in intricate geometric patterns. 

Then, something magical happened. Through crackly speakers, he played a song with words about love and evergreens. She got up, meeting him in the center of me and they began to dance. Toes stepped lightly, occasionally bumping into one another. Soon they were embracing, just swaying to the music, filling the house with warmth.

He went off to work as an accountant. She stayed home and painted, setting up her easel in front of the window. She was careful not to drip on me, though they did spill some wine on me late one night. He got up the next morning and scrubbed vigorously. She came downstairs) and told him she liked me better this way. He believed her and once again they danced, toes stepping lightly until they embraced.

He spent less and less time in the house as his work grew more demanding. She spent more and more. I noticed she began to sit more and paint less. Her shape had changed, the rounding of her stomach fitting nicely into his hands when he embraced her from behind.

The baby changed things for me. At first, she was careful to use a changing pad when she sat the tiny girl on me, but soon grew careless. Despite the fact that her paints sat in a box in the corner, the messes became more common. They scrubbed me till I was clean, but my colors had faded a bit. The little girl didn’t mind. I was a great place to learn to crawl. She would stare at my patterns, following my lines with her wide brown eyes.

About that time, he brought home a new hardwood coffee table, sending that hideous thing to the dumpster where it belonged. He also brought home a new couch, and she brought home another baby, a boy this time. 

The little boy, as he grew, would bring his cars to me. My intricate lines became streets, and his inner eye filled me in with the trappings of a great city. As the little girl grew, I was delighted once again to be used for dancing - first, the awkward toddling of a preschooler, but eventually more intricate steps. Then she began to prefer hardwood and special shoes. 

He brought home expensive works of art to cover the walls and a very large television. She brought home snobbish new friends who discussed the art with critical tones.

For a very long time, no one danced on me. He worked long days, with frequent out-of-town trips. She had a showing at a fancy gallery downtown. The kids were busy with dance lessons, guitar practice and soccer games. They often trampled me in their shoes, despite their mother’s protests.  And they ate over me, frequently grinding crumbs of Cheetos and drops of soda into me. Sometimes all four would crash on the couch to watch a sporting event or a movie. He usually fell asleep before it was over.

There were loud times too, but not from music. There were arguments and accusations, pointed fingers and raised fists of defiance. I was stomped on repeatedly in rage. One time he threw down a goblet causing tiny shards of glass to pierce me in a hundred places. After he went out for a beer, she carefully pulled out the shards, staining me with drops of blood from her fingertips. 

The kids finally left home, and she nearly did too. “I can’t stand this empty house,” she wailed at him. He looked around at a room full of beautiful things they had collected. It was quite empty. 

He ran out of the door, slamming it behind him, and she fell down on her knees.  Her tears wet my fibers and ran down my faded patterns. He was gone three nights and two days. She pulled her sweater around her shivering arms as she paced over me, barely aware of my presence. She packed his clothes, had them sitting by the door. “It’s really over this time,” she told her mother over the phone.

On the third day, in the evening he returned, his head low, and his arms laden with flowers, a bottle of wine and a resignation letter he had typed and signed. “Hello,” he said. And he began to say the words he had planned, beautiful thoughtful words. But before he could get more than a dozen of them out, she had run to him, embracing him. Tears flowed down four cheeks, drops landing lightly on me. All night they cried and laughed in equal measure, sipping the wine and telling the stories of them. At some point, after two or three glasses, he turned on the music and got up. She moved in close, taking his hands. Toes stepped carefully and joints creaked as they danced across me until they were embracing, swaying to the music, and filling the house with warmth.

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zach spiering

Zach lives in Joplin. He once caught two toads and kept them as pets. Later he released them back into the wild. At some point Joplin may release Zach back into the wild as well.

Zach wrote this story.

aubrey prunty

Aubrey is a full-time artist and sister to all.

She likes to help inspire the inner artist in everyone and invite them to experience positive, life-changing creativity- so that they can find their joy and feel a sense of artistic accomplishment, and in doing so, possibly discover a new passion!

@breezyartwork

Aubrey illustrated this story.