Art & Mae

He woke up earlier than usual one morning. He pulls himself from the couch, finds his slippers and makes his way into the kitchen. It’s how he left it the evening before. There are dishes in the sink, pans on the stovetop and coffee still in his cup. He reaches for the teakettle on the counter behind the coffee machine, fills it and places it on the stovetop. The man goes upstairs to dress. He walks into the bedroom at the end of the hallway, passing all the empty rooms. He snatches up a pair of blue jeans and puts on a button down shirt. He sits at the foot of the large bed and puts on his socks. The man turns back to look at the empty bed, where they used to sleep not more than a month ago. He leaves the room when he hears the teakettle whistle.

He fixes himself a cup of tea and sits on the bench that overlooks their land. He slips on his boots and steps out the back door towards the barn. He fetches a stool and sits beside the house cow to gather milk for the morning's bite. As he finishes with the cow, the rooster lets out his cry. He stops at the chicken coup to grab eggs, on way back to the house.

He tromps back inside. With his back to the kitchen, "Mae. I got the milk and a few good eggs." He turns. She’s not there. Art drops everything and runs back out to the barn.

He’s standing in the round barn, staring up through the center hole. It’s his barn now; no longer is it theirs. "Won’t be much longer, Mae."