The Yellow Room

As I have shared with you before, the house talks to me.  Most of the time she likes to chat about Michael and remind me of the many things that took place here, both good and bad.  I guess eventually the topic will become shaped around me and the cats.  We'll see.

There is a particular place where she likes to corner me and emotionally abuse me.  It's that Yellow Room.  I don't know what it is about it, but a lot of emotional things seem to have taken place in that space.  Maybe because that was the place where I used to go and write.  Or maybe because that was the place where I went and bawled my eyes out after that night when Michael and I decided to part?   And where I had actually prayed to God to watch over him and bless him in his new life.  And I also prayed for the strength to get by.

I was in there late this evening on the exercise bike.  Once finished, I lingered for a minute to give my body some time to pull itself together.  I looked at the nearly empty space, with it's bare bright walls.  This room is empty because at one point I thought of renting it out and get a roommate.  I never really pursued the roommate thing.  I looked around and began to remember all the things that I have had experienced in that room.

Because it's empty and because it's winter, I keep the door to this room closed to avoid wasting energy heating an empty space.  So, over the past few months, it has sort of become a foreign place.  Like a dark place in the back of one's mind where you put all the things you don't really want to think about.  And this room has sort of become similar to my "memory" of him; I know he is there and he was really... but was he?  Yup, the room is there... I know its there, but... sort of not?

The Yellow Room was where we slept that very first night once we had officially moved in.  We had dragged in the mattress into the small room and slept there.  Gosh, the quietness of suburbia had freaked me out so badly that first night.  I recall turning off the light and being shocked by how quiet and dark it was - I was scared.   I had become so accustomed to the bright lights and noise of downtown San Francisco.

As I sat there, I saw Michael painting the walls.  That had been his project.  He was so passionate about it at the beginning.  Painting; although highly therapeutic, it is a lot of damn work!!   I know that I have made peace with his departure, but I have yet to make peace with the void that was left behind.  I still have a hard time believing that he left.  Somehow; although he drove me absolutely fucking crazy, he was my friend and my partner, and we had done so much and were moving in a positive direction... so that when it all ended, it was really hard to accept it.