Those Who Spoon

Chapter Four

The house no longer smelt the same. 

That was the first thing Ebenezer realized when his mother opened the bland white door for him. Instead of the familiar scent of mandarin and cedar – a sweet, sharp combination that he’d inhaled ever since his childhood; a smell that reminded him of spring and the forest – a wave of overly sweet linen washed through the air, broke through invisible barriers and shot up his hairy nostrils. It was the sort of smell he was only used to experiencing around his grandmother Portia, and even there it had been faint. It was so syrupy, so stifling, that Ebenezer recoiled in his wheelchair, his eyes snapping shut in horror. Surely this could not be the house he had grown up in? 

When he opened them again, however, he saw the familiar warm wood panels of the hall, glowing in the glory of the afternoon sun; rays of light made it seem like the mahogany was on fire. The floor itself, tiles consisting of the warmest brown colors, seemed like cinnamon and chocolate swirling together. White coats, grey coats and red coats all hung chaotically on hooks his father must have hung up in the two years he’d been absent. An American flag hung against the stairs; his mother had attached some post-it notes with instructions for groceries on them. 

Dolly rolled him over the threshold carefully and parked him in the hallway for a brief moment. He craned his neck and glanced around, noticing the new lights his father had installed. How much had changed while he was gone? Had it not only been his life, but his home? His friends? This town? 

“There you go,” Dolly said tenderly as she circled back behind him. “Are you ready to see the living room?” 

Why wouldn’t I be? Ebenezer wanted to ask, but the words got stuck in his throat. What if they had replaced the familiar leather couch? What if the old, grainy TV they had been swapped for a broad flat screen? What if the lavender closet his mother had loved so dearly was now bright purple? 

That’s why, as she wheeled him into the living room, Ebenezer had his eyes screwed shut. The room smelled of paint and new furniture (that leathery, clean odor that’s both exciting and unfamiliar), which confirmed his worst fears. As Ebbie pried his eyes open, all he could do in order not to gasp in shock was clutch the arms of the wheelchair and dig his nails into it. 

The walls were no longer creamy white, a color that had always appealed to him. Instead, three out of four sides were a monstrous shade of canary yellow that hurt the eye; the fourth was a relatively calm ice blue. Everything, ranging from the colorful pots and paintings to the purple nightlights, clashed with the hideous sofa that stood smack in the middle of the living room. Flower prints were all over it, and the cushions looked so swollen that Ebenezer was convinced they had swallowed a man whole. To sum things up: Everything had been replaced. 

Even the pictures on the wall, Ben noticed, were all of him before the accident. Although his parents had made many pictures with him while he was in the hospital, none of these graced the living room; Ebenezer doubted they’d even kept them. Perhaps it had been easier to pretend nothing had happened to their son at all. He wished he could do the same, but your own face does not lie. Unless this was all just a really, really bad dream. If so, he would most certainly improve his life, Ben vowed. He would never take anything for granted again. 

Just then, Ebenezer became aware of the odd feeling someone was breathing in his neck. He felt something soft – hair – brush his shoulders, and he tried to see what it was . . . to no avail. “What’s that?” he said as he felt it again. “Mom, what’s that?!” 

“Oh!” Dolly said, sharing a look with Cornelius. “That’s . . .” 

“What the hell is it?” Ebenezer cried out. He reached behind him to swat the thing away, and with a load noise of protest and a bang as it collided with a piece of furniture, the thing disappeared altogether – or so he hoped.