To Messes

Sig charges past the smashed remains of my front door before I can blink. He disappears inside, leaving me stunned and stupefied in the open portal.

I stare at the broken door. Blink at it several times. Then slap my psyche to unfreeze myself.

I barrel through the opening, nearly trip over a pile of books before catching myself on the stairway banister. With rapid eyes, I scan the first level. An undivided space comprises the entire floor. I recognize a kitchen, table, desk, and sofa. All of which are covered in books, papers, pencils, clothes, plates, bowls, utensils, and a variety of other objects I don’t recognize. My nose crinkles at the disastrous state of the room. But what I don’t see is Sig.

A thumping overhead draws my attention to the stairs. I only take the first step before Sig is coming back down. He waves me back, expression disappointed, sword re-sheathed. He tromps past me to stand in the broken doorway.

Arms crossed over his chest and looking down at the print of his boot on the door, he says, “Think your landlord will notice if I paint over it?”

My blood flashes to a boil. I clench my jaw to stop myself shouting.

Through gritted teeth, I growl, “I think the real problem is that you smashed it off the hinges. Why in the good Lord's name did you do that? Are you dicked in the nob?”

“No? Is that an elf saying?”

“I don’t know! I can’t remember! Why did you kick my door in? I thought you said you had a key.”

“I do, but I wanted the element of surprise.” He says.

“Well, you certainly surprised me. If my neighbors were watching, I’m sure you surprised them. And I bet my door was the most surprised of all, but what did it achieve? Nothing, save for turning my door into a welcome mat.”

Sig chuckles and rolls his eyes at me. “I wanted to surprise Hangman. Okay?”

My anger and annoyance drain out of me in a heartbeat. “What? Hangman was here?”

“I can’t say for certain, but probably. You aren’t the tidiest person, mind you, but it wasn’t this bad last time I was here. And Hangman stole your key, so it would make sense for him to loot the place. I’ll try to fix your door. Maybe you should get some rest.”

I nod. I do feel drained. But I doubt I would be able to rest if I tried. I examine my home with renewed anxiety. Was this mess made by me or Hangman? Was he just sacking the place? Looking for valuables? Or did I leave this mess?

I take a half step inside, then stop. “You checked to make sure he’s not here, right?” I ask.

“I checked everywhere someone could hide. There’s no one else here. You're safe.” He assures me.

Trusting Sig and feeling better, I go inside.

The first level is just as disastrous as it first appeared. I decide to start cleaning. I’m too wound up to rest, and I hope interacting with my things might trigger the return of my memories. Also, the mess grates on my nerves.

Wading through the dim room, I spot several glass balls hanging from the ceiling. Having seen similar objects around the town, I know they are lights, but I don’t know how to turn them on. Too embarrassed to ask Sig, I opt for opening the windows instead. The afternoon light and fresh air are a welcome addition to the discordant space.

I start cleaning by piling my clothes on the floor. I stay vigilant for pants, but to my disappointment, find none.

“Do I not own a single pair of trousers?” I grumble under my breath.

“Now that you mention it, I’ve never seen you wearing any.” Sig calls from the doorway.

Mildly impressed that he heard me, I decide to try a test. I whisper into my hand, “What’s seven plus two?”

“Nine.” Sig answers with a smirk. “Congratulations, you have now re-discovered that I have excellent hearing.”

“Better than excellent. That was impressive!” I admit, really meaning it.

Sig just shrugs, “It’s nothing much. What impresses me is that you used almost the same method for figuring it out this time as you did the first time.”

“Really? How did I find out the first time?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you after I finish this. It’s actually part of what led to us meeting.” He says with an air of purposeful mystery, then goes back to fixing the door.

I roll my eyes at the attempt to build suspense. Return to my cleaning. But can’t help feeling curious about the story of how we met. I also find myself wondering what other secrets I have left to re-discover about Sig. And myself for that matter.

After congregating all my books into neat stacks in the corner, I find it easier to move around my home. I quickly relegate all the plates, bowls, and utensils to the kitchen sink. I organize all the papers, notebooks, and pencils into orderly piles. Then I gather all the objects I don’t recognize and heap them onto my kitchen table. I label them, to be sorted later.

I survey my cleaning work proudly. The room, my home, is now in much better shape. Though there is still more to be done. And I suspect the second floor is in similar need of cleaning. But at least I can walk around now without tripping over random objects.

“Looks good.” Sig says, walking away from the repaired door. “I think this is the cleanest I’ve seen it.”

“It’s a start. How was the upstairs?” I ask.

“Same as down here, but I’ll help you with that. Together, we will have it put right in no time.”

I nod in agreement. “You fixed the door.” I say.

Sig smiles smugly. “Yeah, I’m pretty handy. But anyway, I promised you the story of how we met. Come.”

He ushers me to the table. I take a seat, and he pulls a chair to sit beside me.

“Alright!” Sig says excitedly. “So—”

“Wait!” I interrupt before he starts. “Before that, there is something I need to know. Who is Cara?”