Twisting the nob he could close the door behind him gently, without making too much sound. He did so less to protect the door and more to remind himself that he was taking care of the house more than his roommate was, who would slam the door without a second thought. It was so much like her to be forgetful, or to be absentminded, to lack consciousness about her surroundings. He couldn't figure out why that was. Why she just couldn't pay attention to things in the house. If it was true, than it was a subtlety he couldn't have foreseen in the beginning when deciding on the roommate.
After succeeding in closing the door with minimal sound, he pulled the light chain to give the foyer some light. On the wall is this big photograph of the Caribbean at sunset that he had taken a long time ago. Perhaps he should change it by now. But he wasn't even paying attention to it; in fact, he hardly notices that it's there anymore.
He sat down on this little wooden chair that was meant for a flower pot, and he took off his shoes, laid them side by side on the shoe rack, after which he took off his socks, one at a time, and put each in the respective shoe. He mentally remembered to wear them tomorrow one more time before putting them in the laundry basket. He then put on his slippers. He raised his body up, consciously using his glutes and whatever minimal muscles needed. He walked over to the coat section of the foyer and surveys the coats already there, along with other things they liked to hang and forget when they entered the house. Somehow, without talking, they have segregated the hooks into his part and her part. He noticed that she had her coats hanging there, but he knew, judging from her empty hook on the key hanger that she was not home. There were also other things hanging there, mostly umbrellas. Above the hooks were storage areas where some of his belongings have been forgotten there. There's a cashmere scarf he hadn't even taken out of the plastic bag. There were receipts, even a pair of binoculars.
As he took off his jacket and proceeded to hang it, he made a mental note to remember to organize this hanger a little better. He unwrapped the scarf around his neck, folded it once, and stuffed it in one of the sleeves of the jacket. Till tomorrow!
He walked into the kitchen. The floor is terribly dirty; he hadn't had the time to mop it, and sweeping was not so effective. He saw the things on the counter, some of them were his, but he noticed more the things he didn't believe were his. What to do? She was so absentminded that she probably had forgotten that these were hers.
But he wasn't so sure if they really were hers or that he just assumed she had, as always , left something on out in the open and not care about it. He walked over to the sink, found the dish rack still full, and got out a drinking glass. He turned to reach for the water filter, which he had to inscribe a reminder that it needed to be filled whenever the water level went below the filter in order not to dry up the filter. He poured himself a glass of water. But after the first gulp, he looked down and noticed that the used tea leaves scattered by the garbage can was still there. He didn't drink that kind of tea so he knew it was hers. She must have dropped some outside the garbage pail this morning when she was making herself tea. He couldn't bring himself to think that he would have to clean up her mess, but at the same time, he didn't want more confrontation over such trivial thing. It was more about pride, pride that he wasn't going to clean up after anyone. Especially not someone so absentminded, who doesn't really think much about the living conditions as it would affect his life. But leaving the leaves alone would also be out of the question. Not that they would rot, but they were garbage *outside* the garbage pail, which itself was truly dirty, purely disgusting.
He put the glass in one of the sinks, and stood for a bit. He tried not to get upset with her, tried to understand that they were different people with different standards, but also, perhaps, he was being too picky and hypocritical at the same time. He tried to not think about the tea for now.
He went to the living room and turned the heat back on. This morning he had contemplated writing a new, bigger sign to remind her to turn off the heat when leaving because the last two times she had forgotten. He needed to know that he could count on her to help reduce the heating bill. Today he found the heat off when he entered. A good sign, and better so that he didn't have to confront her about it, especially not with a new sign to remind her.
So he walked across to one of the futons and lay there, thinking about the idea of having shared this apartment for as long as he had lived in it.
