A Blank Space Where

A Blank Space Where We Used to Be Peart Chan

When I called Jake last night to say hi, I'm fine, he told me that our cat had died. It was our once-a-month check-in call, our way to say that we still cared, that the end of "us" was not the end of us. We had seen a lot of friends tear their love to shreds and wreck their lives with it, and we swore that we would not do the same. I packed up and moved out with a smile and a wave. It was sad, but there was no rage or guilt. Just a smile and a wave, this is your chair, these are my books. - And now we were friends. On two far-flung coasts, in search of two far-flung dreams. But Moe had been ours, a shared life. We found her curled up in a wet ball in the park. Such a sweet face, a patch of brown here, a smudge of black there. We wrapped her up in a towel and whisked her home. We held her and cooed to her and prayed that she would grow strong. She had no taste for cat food, so she ate what we ate: rice and peas, three-bean soup, pot roast. She loved pan-fried fish with soy sauce. For four years she would dash to the door when we came home at night, no voice to meow but a gaze so full of joy we were sure she had the soul of a dog. Of course, she would stay in New York with Jake. As with all of the rest of our time, there was no need to fight. I knew his mind, and he knew mine, and they were the same. I gave Moe a kiss on her nose when I left. She did not know that I would not be back, but she seemed to sense that my kiss was off. She ran to the couch crawl space and could not be coaxed out. I gave Jake a hug and a kiss at the door, but these were off too.

It's been eight months. Wow, time flies. School is good. Yes, work is good... There's snow on the ground. Oh, it's not too cold here. ...Moe died. She had some kind of worm. She did not want to eat. I had to feed her by hand, food mashed up with drops of some stuff the vet gave me. She got so thin in the end. But she still tried to smile for me.

My room was cold when I hung up the phone. I switched off the light and thought of Moe, small and still in our bed, her breath a sigh mixed with ours. I left that in New York, too.