Skip to main content

Benji

Boxes lined the hallway. The setting sun shone on the cobwebs in the corners that had managed to hide from the broom. Silence settled in as the dog scurried away to the empty kitchen.

Amy brushed her hands on her jeans as she stood up from packing the last of her books into an egg crate. She looked around, proud of her accomplishment. Her dad would be here any minute with the rental truck. She was on her way to find the dog in the vacant house when something stopped her. The beige shag rug stood rolled up in the dining room next to the oak chest. Amy walked over to it and scraped the rough underside with her palm. It sent shivers down her body. She let the strands of fiber slip between her fingers, and grabbed a fistful. She closed her eyes and swore she could hear his voice.

“Amy, baby! Come look at this one!”

“Brandon, really? It’s so old-fashioned looking.”

“It’s exquisite. Let’s get it!”

“How about we walk around and get our other stuff before making such an expensive decision?”

Amy knew they would be leaving the store with the gigantic carpet at that moment. How could she shut down her fiancĂ©’s request when such a simple thing like a rug prompted that wide toothy grin she so loved?

As soon as they got it home, Brandon unrolled the fluffy mass and sprawled out on it.

“Now this- this is perfection,” he let out a relaxed sigh and pretended to snore.

Amy giggled and jumped on him. They playfully wrestled, cuddled, and ended up falling asleep for the night there on the floor.

From then on, when they were home, they did most everything on the shag rug. Ate, played games, read, napped. Baby Jane took her first steps there. The beige rug became a part of the family, affectionately known as “Benji.”

When Brandon went off to Iraq, Amy had cut off an end piece of Benji and thrown it in with his clothes, a surprise to be found when he unpacked. His next letter expressed his extreme love and gratitude. There was nothing that could symbolize “home” more accurately than Benji.

The sound of the moving truck horn startled Amy back to her empty apartment, still holding onto the carpet. She wiped her tear-stained cheeks and went out to meet her dad.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Christen on Board

Yes, I have another post about motorists- they may just be the thing that angers me most (and I'm really not an angry person, mind you). Yesterday was beautiful so I went for a bike ride on a trail near my house. For once I went without my iPod and it was a nice change to hear nature instead of music in my ears. The trail crosses a couple of roads, one major, the other just petty little roads (who needs 'em). I come up to the road and this sign is VERY clearly posted for the drivers to see Now what part of STATE LAW do you not understand? I stood and waited with my bike for 5 cars to pass before a nice, law-abiding driver stopped for me which I promptly waved to thank them for such a nice gesture. I get if someone's just coming up to the crosswalk and the driver's a too little close for them to slam on their brakes to stop for; But when someone's just standing there waiting to cross the road for a while, stop already! That's just rude. Especially for runners....

uh...BUM stands for Business Unit Manager

So as some of you may know, I'm currently job searching, which turns out to be IMPOSSIBLE. I've come across other 20 somethings who are looking for work, most of them just getting out of college. Good luck!! I've been here in Maryland since January searching for my career around DC. It's almost May and guess how many interviews I've had...you guessed it! 0. None. Zip. Zilch. I've even had to go through THREE interviews for a waitressing job. Yes, you heard me. 3. I'm still waiting on that third interview. I'm hoping that the managers are waiting until they have a large enough group to go through training and that's why I haven't had a call... I would like to know what kind of sick joke the universe is playing on me. Saturday afternoon I get a voicemail from some lady about coming in for an interview. There are a few things wrong with this proposal: 1. What kinda 9-5 job calls on a Saturday afternoon before Easter to talk work? 2. She said ...

Gymnasium Antics

My gym has the smallest parking lot. And there is nowhere to add additional spots, so there is overflow parking near the movie theater. Now, I completely understand that parking a mile away is a pain the butt when you hardly want to be there in the first place. But do people REALLY need to wait for parking spots at the gym? From the treadmill I can see the parking lot and you don't know how many accidents I see people almost getting into just from racing around to get to the other side's open spot. News flash: You're here to exercise. Walking 50 more feet won't really kill you. Unless you're Plastic Suit Guy, who apparently does NOT realize he's here to exercise.  My new speed to run on the treadmill is 6.0mph *takes a bow* but my comfortable speed to walk leisurely is at 3.8ish. I've seen PSG before, pre-plastic suit. He's wearing huge aviator sunglasses and brings a newspaper to the treadmill (every time), positions his two Voss water bottles in the...