The windows are barely see-through anymore. In my kitchen the dishes have piled up nose-high, while my wardrobe seems to have moved to the floor; leaving nothing but white spots to walk on. Like step stones in a river of clothes.
‘What are you doing?’ A voice behind me says.
I’m trying to find a way out,’ I explain standing in the middle of the minefield called living room.
‘Have you ever considered cleaning up?’
‘I have given it a thought, but I decided it wasn’t for me.’
‘Because it’s useless. You do it and then you have to do it all over again, and again and so on. It’s like a vicious circle or like the grasshopper that won’t stop chirping!’
‘People have done it for over the last millenia.’
‘That is a good point. But that still doesn’t make it more bearable.’
‘Than pay somebody to do the cleaning for you.’
‘I can’t even afford breakfast,’ I say while I’m trying to move upstream.
‘I might not get the psychology of this, but I do know one thing. You look stupid.’
‘Be that as it may, this is my mess.’ I’m pointing down, but I might as well have pointed sideways or just circled around like a windmill.
The voice laughs. ‘And your mess is better than their mess?’
‘My mess is my mess, and their mess is, well beside universal, also devastating. Like fire, leaving nothing but ashes.’
Levine looks at me. His eyes almost water. ‘This is no way of getting control over your life.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘I’ve given that up a long time ago. Now at least let me have my mess.’
‘No, you’re staying with me for a while.’ He crosses his arms in front of him.
‘Does that mean I have to do dishes?’ I say with a pouty lip as I try to step forward, but I triple and fall flat on my face in the only blank spot that was left and is now turning red.
‘Get up. We are leaving your dirty ghosts.’
I jump up, but stagger, triple again because my foot gets stuck in a panty with strawberries on it; and again I am flat on my face. ‘No way, they will let me go.’ I get up and wobble.
‘I don’t care.’ He sweeps me off the floor and tosses my over his shoulder. I feel his muscles and firm grip. He makes a step. ‘Hey is that my ass?’ I say dangling like a ragdoll. He misses. He totters. He bends.
‘Run!’ I scream. ‘Run and fly! Or they will get us.’