The Blue Room with Yellow Curtains

The image comes to my mind every once in a while, it comes when I have nothing to think about, especially when I'm making coffee. The reminiscing smell of the laundry detergent makes my nose scrunch up. It's might be from the hot water used to brew the beans, which seemed overroasted.

"It's Tuesday," I say to my husband, Alan. He looks up from his newspaper, trying to analyze my face. After giving me a long, sorrowful stare, he asks if I was okay.

After some time, I slowly nod and take out my pack of Marlboro Lights. After carefully placing a cigarette between my lips, I lean towards him as he holds the lit match. I see him carefully observing my face, him doing this makes my lips curl in a faint smirk.

"You still have that beautiful dead look on your face, just like the first time I did that for you." I smiled awkwardly. Blowing a ring of smoke towards him, I then leaned forward and gave him a passionate, cold kiss.

"I keep thinking about that day," I say to him. I smile and sit next to him. As he watches me, I slowly unbutton my shirt while taking a long drag of my cigarette. His eyes wander while he slowly puts down his newspaper, which was turned to the sports page. Talk about perfect timing.

"Can you pass me one?" he finally says. I give him the cigarette and lean forward to light his with mine, pushing my butt to his. I take his hand and lead him to the couch. I carefully sit him down and lean towards the record player, trying to decide what kind of music to play. He coddles my breasts and kisses my neck, making me giggle.

Suddenly, I look at him and get anxious. "Where's the cigarette?" He points to his foot, as he lifts up his sneaker, showing its hiding spot. It's flattened and curled like it's been in a fight.

"Malboro isn't cheap Alan," I say. ashing the last of my cigarette into the ashtray. "It's pricey to enjoy my addictions."

"Natalie. You know I can just buy a carton with some flowers and red wine and you'll be the happiest woman in the world." I suppress my smile, pretending to be annoyed.

"Add a jazz vinyl to that gift of mine and I'll surrender myself to you entirely." he smiles, slowly moving his hands from my chest to the arch of my back. I start to cringe and pull away.

"What's going on?" He says. I shake my head and reach for my button-up shirt. As I put it on, I see that shirt that once draped over my body, now fitted tightly around my chest and stomach.

"I gained weight." I made a face. I went from a healthy 160 to a stressed-out 200 pounds. I've been eating nothing but fruit pies for dessert, fried eggs with tuna for lunch, and grits with butter and potatoes for breakfast.

"I need to be careful of what I'm eating before my mother says something about it." I roll my eyes at the thought of my mother greeting me with an insult towards my weight, rather than a simple "Hello! How are you?"

Why did mothers do that to their daughters? It honestly makes me want to make excuses to not even attend family gatherings, and have that energy of my mother and her illusion of grandeur.

But of course, I couldn't even do that without her noticing my small lies. She could smell bullshit even through the phone.

Alan rolls his eyes moments after I do, placing a 5$ bill on my pack of cigarettes. After lighting one, closes his eyes and exhales, shaking his head. "Your mother is a piece of work. Honestly, the woman is extremely unlikeable." I nodded, agreeing with him. "Alan, remember the wedding? I almost lost my damn mind that day! She was 3 hours later, and came stealing the show with such a gaudy outfit! That's completely rude!"

Alan shakes his head. "How could I forget? If your mother believed in therapy and psychiatric treatment, I could give her a diagnosis. NPD, or Narcissistic Personality Disorder." He walks to the bookcase in our living room and pulls out a textbook filled with diagnoses, something he invested in right before attending college. He flips through the textbook, trying to find the page explaining the disorder when suddenly something falls out.

As I squint to look closer, I throw my head back and cackle loudly. "Alan! is that what I think it is?" He picks up the small bag of green and smiles, shaking it around. "Yes it is," he says giggling.

After cleaning the house and making dinner together, we lay in our pajamas in the living room and smoke a joint. Carefully passing it and flicking the ash in between, we both start to feel airy and light.

"This reminds me of our honeymoon." I finally say, passing the joint. I blow a ring of smoke and stare at the ceiling. "Remember that night?"

Alan takes a long, slow drag. After some time, he sighs, letting the smoke escape between his teeth and lips. "Yeah," he finally says. "We were booked into that strange room."

"The blue room with the yellow curtains," I responded. The memory flooded my brain again, and the faint smell of laundry detergent filled my senses once again. I closed my eyes while taking a hit, and slowly inhaled the green smoke into my lungs. I remember the covers on the bed were soft and decorated with flowers and lace. Not a stain or tear in sight. The hotel was great and was right next to the planetarium, where we decided to spend go for our honeymoon date. It's a bit odd, but we were two dorks with interests in psychology, psychedelics, and the universe.

Two dorks, who luckily grew into their looks. I had a slouch and greasy hair that hung over my shoulders like a stained cape. But, after some research and treatment, my brown cape because a long gown of hair that shone with health. Alan was also a textbook geek who, with age, became more attractive and confident as well.

Alan and I first met at a college party, when a group of hipsters brought the acid to the school campus one night. I had nothing to do and decided to see college life for myself. I came from a family of wealthy socialites but wanted to step into my twenties with a newfound experience.

I prided myself in my brain, and how progressive I was. Being in college, allowed me to experiment with new things, so one of the colorful hipsters carefully ripped a tab, placing it ever so carefully into the palm of my hands.

My heart fluttered with excitement, as I stared at the colorful paper before me.

Before placing it on my tongue, he tapped me on the shoulder and warned me to take it in a more comfortable setting, as taking it with people you're not familiar with can result in a bad high.

I decided to take his advice and followed him into the kitchen, where he then helped me to wrap it into one aluminum foil to preserve it. After a few dates, we decided to take it together while watching the fireworks on the 4th of July. My teeth chattered as I stare with sunglasses on my face, my brain overflowing with euphoric wonder.

He later graduated with a doctorate in psychology, while I got my doctorate in neuroscience. We later got married and bought a house in a rural area of Oregon.

But every once in a while, we talked about the night when we first faced some paranormal activity. It started with the musical drip of the sink faucet at 12:18 am. I remember the time distinctly, mainly because I was reading the book "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley. I finally had enough of the dripping sound and headed towards the sink with a wrench and flashlight.

As I loosened the grip of the pipe, I suddenly felt very cold and uneasy. The abrupt feeling frightened me, and as I raised my head, I accidentally slam it hard against the cabinet. The pain made my toes curl, causing me to cuss loudly.

"Huh?" Alan muttered, waking up with a confused look on his face. He rushed to my aid and caressed my throbbing head. "What happened?"

After explaining what I was attempting to do, he brings me to bed and makes me drink a glass of water. "I'll be chaperoning you for the night, but you can't sleep," he says. I nod in response, still feeling the pain behind my head from earlier.

As Alan complained about the hotel's faulty sink, I tried to focus my mind on the ceiling and its grainy texture. My mouth starts to almost salivate, as I imagine taking small bites of the ceiling, imaging the granulated consistency between my teeth. I opened my mouth, wanting to share my observation, then closed it. I felt afraid that sharing this rather awkward thought might result in Alan asking me a multitude of questions later.

I decided to not dig that grave and tried to concentrate on something else. I searched the room trying to quickly get interested in the miscellaneous things before my eyes closed. I slowly panicked, feeling my eyelids getting heavy.

I let out a loud yawn, causing Alan to quickly turn around from the sink. She playfully shakes his finger while saying "Tsk Tsk." I smiled. I waved him away as I nodded my head. After widening my eyes I looked up at the ceiling again, this time the ceiling slowly seeps into a yellowish color.

"Wait, is the ceiling changing colors?" Alan abruptly stops what he's doing, staying silent and still. I slowly feel my heart race, hoping he would at least react.

After some time, he slowly looks up at the ceiling and makes a face. "The ceiling was always that color." I didn't believe him. His face was suddenly cold and stern. I slid my feet under the blanket and felt discomfort by that simple response.

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