Margo

Margo would move all of the furniture towards the walls. Even the big old couch she loved to keep at the centre of the living room. She didn’t care if it made the scraping sound it always did. She didn’t care if its legs were close to falling apart or if it almost tore apart our already tattered mat. It is for the greater good, she would say. You need to be able to breathe to dance, she would say. 

But Margo was forgetful. She wouldn’t put things back in place. She would leave a gaping hole in the middle of the room every day. I wish I was strong enough to bring the couch back to its spot. But I succumb to my weakness every night. Today more than the other days, I let myself give in. What good is the spot or the couch without her? 

Three days, Margo. You have never stayed away that long. You know I can’t stand Wednesdays alone. The walls are closing in on me. The couch is weak. It can’t hold them back. Come back and push everything else against them. Come back and make space so you can dance with me, for me, once again. 

I turn the music up. Today, it is louder than usual. I wonder if she hears it too. I wonder if her feet hurt to feel the soft familiarity of our frayed rug once again. I dance along to that song she hated but knew all of the steps to. I seem to have forgotten most of them. I’m sorry, Margo. I try. But I can’t dance. I know you know. I know when you lie.

I wish I had told you earlier, Margo. 

I wish your feet slowed down for only a minute, just enough for me to let you know that your happy feet dance yes? It is my absolute favourite. 

I wish your ears paused for just a little, only enough for you to listen to that laugh you let out, somewhere in the middle of that favourite song of yours. The sound of it still echoes in here, it will still remain my absolute favourite.

Maybe I’ll tell you today if you don’t forget the groceries on your way. Please come back so I can tell you today and watch you laugh off every word that I say.