Honey, I’m Home

By Kaitlyn DeMetro

I don’t trust the picture box. The people in it stare as I walk by. They want me trapped inside with them. The animals watch me too—dogs and cats, even the family fish in the tiny glass bowl. I am observed as I observe them.

They are all in black and white, and they want what I have. They want the yellow daisies on the oak coffee table; they want my red suede shoes. They want me, those people living black and white, repetitive lives.

Honey, I’m home!

Honey, I’m home!

Honey, I’m home!

The black and white man is greeted by his black and white wife, and children, and dog, and cat, and then he feeds the fish in the tiny glass bowl. He sits in the black and white kitchen and eats black and white meatloaf each evening. Every evening.

They look at me through the picture box. They want me caged with them. The black and white people don’t say it, but I see it on their faces. They were like me, once. They lived in color. They had daisies on coffee tables and wore red suede shoes.

But that was before they were consumed by the picture box. The people grow angry when I turn the box off. I try to outsmart the black and white people scrutinizing my every move. Maybe if I move across the room fast enough, they won’t catch me.

Maybe here,

or here.

No. They have eyes that watch me. They watch me like a snake eyes a rat. No matter how fast the rat moves, the snake always catches its prey.

I cower here between the bookcase and piano. They might think I’m part of the furniture if I stay silent and still. But between smiles and jokes, the black and white people still see me. They yearn for me to join them, but I know better. I know my life will be a cycle of bad jokes and artificial smiles. I know this because I do nothing but stare at the picture box.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Why can’t I be left alone? The machine gets it.

It’s Bob.

What does Bob want now? To know why I’m not at the office again? To hell with him! He doesn’t understand.

I need to watch the picture box. My eyes are tired. I haven’t slept. Or maybe all I do is sleep. I don’t know anymore.

Honey, I’m home!

Honey, I’m home!

Honey, I’m home!

The man is home from work now with an unwavering smile on his porcelain face as he greets his black and white wife, and children, and cat, and dog, and he feeds the fish in the tiny glass bowl. They sit together at dinner. Meatloaf again. The black and white man looks familiar. I’ve seen his face before, outside of the picture box. Where have I seen this face? Why won’t he answer me when I ask him? Where have I seen him? Where?

There! In the looking glass across the room. The same man is in color, cowering between the bookshelf and piano.

This man is me.

They have stolen me already!

Imposter-me is living my black and white life. Mine! I have to take it back, now—tonight. He can have my life in color. He will melt away in this chromatic hell. And I will live forever with my black and white family in the picture box. They are mine.

At least, they will be. Tonight.

Honey, I’m home.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Though born in upstate New York, Kaitlyn DeMetro was primarily raised in West Virginia. Her summers spent in the Ohio River and lazy days with a Stephen King novel in hand, she grew a fondness for literary drama. She has a bachelor’s degree in English and is working on her first novel, set in the mysterious and magnetic atmosphere of coal country.

---

Twitter