In a post I wrote a long time ago, I said that I wanted to write more. Since writing said post, I have been somewhat moderately successful at doing so. In an effort to be more than somewhat moderately successful, today will be the first of what I plan to be a running series of posts which I am calling really short stories. These ‘stories ‘ will be short scenes that I could conceivably use as inspiration for an actual story someday or at the very least will keep my creative literary juices flowing. That means be nice because these aren’t all fully developed ideas.
Unlike my other posts, these really short stories are fiction. That is especially important for me to emphasize in the case of this scene (which is actually a letter), The Bad Roommate. This is in no way inspired by anyone that I have ever lived with. I love my roommates (past and present) very much. They are all wonderful. Except Jill the Mouse.
Wash all of your dishes in the sink before you leave, and get your stuff out of the fridge. While you’re at it, you might as well take the trash out, too.
I did your laundry. Not on purpose. Some of your clothes got mixed up with mine. Funny how that happened. Anyway, I cleaned them. It’s not too much stuff. Just a couple pairs of jeans, a black tank top, a men’s rugby shirt, and a pair of gray sweatpants that is at least six sizes too big for you. I certainly wouldn’t want you to forget those things. I’m sure your new boyfriend is missing them.
Dylan doesn’t like it when you wear his clothes. He’ll never come out and say that because he’s such a nice guy, but when you date someone for four years, you start to pick up on these things. I doubt your relationship will last that long, though. I’m sure that once you find a new roommate who has a boyfriend that she’s madly in love with, you’ll decide that you’d rather date him.
I’m probably wrong, though. What do I know about you and Dylan? It sure was news to me when I found out about the super awesome connection that you guys have and that he can talk to you about stuff that he could never talk about with me.
I’m so glad he found someone to whom he could open up about important things. You know, like how lately he hasn’t been happy, how he’s starting to rethink his relationship, and how he doesn’t know how to tell me.
What would he have done without you? He might have had to stay with me forever. He might have had to marry me and move into the white apartment building on Summer Street with me just like we’d always talked about. Thank god for you. Really, thank god you were there. Now he doesn’t have to do that stuff anymore.
Leave your key in the mailbox, and don’t forget to take any of your things. If you leave something behind, I might decide I like it more than you do, need it more than you do and keep it for myself.