Dark Obsession

Chapter 19: The Ninth Table - The Everyday Table

Ninth table was built at 6am, not 4am, not 5am, 6am, because everyday table must be built at normal time, not honeymoon time, not wedding time, normal time, everyday time.

We woke up at 6am, king bed, blue sweater folded, not white, blue again, hole, diamond, eight tables on balcony sleeping, salt still in eighth table wood, umbrella still up even at night.

I wore blue sweater, hole, diamond, white sweater folded in sixth table secret drawer, because everyday needs blue, not white, hole needed daily, diamond daily too.

Damien wore black sweater, black jeans, dusty hands dusty again, not sandy, dusty, Hamptons garage dust, because ninth table wood from garage, not beach, not wedding store, garage, everyday wood.

On balcony, eight tables in cold spring light, Park Avenue lights off now, morning, Central Park green.

Second table kiss table crooked.

Third table family table crooked.

Fourth table drawing table perfect with beach drawing.

Fifth table miniature small perfect with salt and flower and shell.

Sixth table ring table perfect secret drawer with white thread and sand grain.

Seventh table wedding table huge 8 feet white cloth flowers fresh.

Eighth table honeymoon table small short legs umbrella hole salt smell.

Eight tables, eight promises, but no table for Tuesday 6am coffee, no table for Wednesday cereal, no table for normal, everyday, daily.

At 6:30am, Damien built ninth table in middle of balcony, not on edge, middle, because everyday table must be in middle, center, like kitchen.

Ninth table was medium, not huge like seventh, not small like fifth and eighth, medium, four feet by four feet, four chairs, not eight, not two, four, because everyday is four: me, him, coffee, drawing, four.

Ninth table had no secret, no drawer, no umbrella hole, no white cloth, no sugar tables, no shell, no sand, plain walnut, flat, simple, perfect legs but not perfect top, top scratched on purpose, small scratches, because everyday table must have scratches from use, from plates, from cups, from drawing pencils.

"Good morning, little mouse in blue sweater everyday," he said, placing vanilla latte heart foam on ninth table medium, two cups, but also toast, not pizza, not fish sandwiches, toast, everyday toast, butter, "Ninth table, everyday table, not for kissing snow, not for family pizza, not for future students, not for forever miniature, not for ring drawer, not for wedding white cloth, not for honeymoon salt, ninth table is for 6am toast, 6am coffee, 6am drawing of park, everyday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, no occasion."

"What is ninth table for?" I asked, tradition.

"For staying," he said, sitting opposite on medium table, knees not touching, space, everyday space, "For staying when there is no snow, no pizza, no students, no shell, no wedding, no beach, just 6am and toast and you in blue sweater hole and me in black sweater dust and we still eat on table not floor, even when no one watches, even when no occasion, especially when no occasion, everyday."

We ate toast on ninth table, crumbs, many crumbs, because toast crumbly, everyday crumbs, not special crumbs.

He texted even though opposite, two feet away, ninth table medium: "Eight tables were special occasions, ninth is no occasion, which is the most special, because everyday is what floor was, floor was everyday eating on floor alone, now everyday eating on table together - D"

I replied: "Nine tables, nine promises, ninth promise is we will eat on table even on boring Tuesday, especially boring Tuesday, little mouse everyday in blue sweater hole"

At 8am, Ethan came up, hoodie, holding cereal box, not pizza, everyday cereal, "Good morning, ninth table? Medium? Four chairs? Scratches on purpose? Good, everyday table, I will eat cereal here on Tuesdays, not just pizza on third table, everyday."

Jaxon message at 9am: "NINTH TABLE! MEDIUM! SCRATCHED ON PURPOSE! EVERYDAY TABLE! FINALLY A TABLE FOR NO REASON!"

At noon, I drew on ninth table, not fourth, ninth, because everyday drawing should be on everyday table, park not floor, but quick sketch, not perfect, everyday sketch, crooked, because everyday not perfect.

At 9pm, group chat "Little Mouse Eight Tables Home Squad" renamed to "Little Mouse Nine Tables Squad" by Luca:

Luca: "Nine tables, eight special plus one not special, which makes nine special, everyday is special now"

I smiled, blue sweater hole, diamond, nine tables on balcony, full balcony now, almost full, Park Avenue lights yellow, Central Park green, everyday.

And I knew Chapter 20 would be about tenth table, but tenth table maybe last, because nine tables is many, but everyday needs tomorrow too, so tenth maybe about forever everyday.

To be continued...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: What The Tables Really Mean

Readers ask why tables? Why does Damien keep building tables for Elena? It is not about furniture.

In 2021, Elena ate on the floor in her tiny walk-up. She had no table, no money, no family. She ate cereal on the floor, drew Central Park on the floor because she could not afford to go. The floor was her life.

So when Damien said in Chapter 1: "You will never eat on the floor again, little mouse" - a table became a promise: you deserve to be lifted.

Every table is a promise:

Table 1 - The Eating Table: You have dignity. You don't eat on the floor anymore.

Table 2 - The Kiss Table (crooked leg): First kiss in snow on Park Avenue. Crooked because love is not perfect, but it still holds. Even crooked love can hold you.

Table 3 - The Family Table (crooked leg): Pizza with Jaxon, Kai, Luca, Damien, Ethan. You are not alone anymore. Family is messy, so leg is crooked.

Table 4 - The Future Table (perfect leg): She built it perfect for her NYU students. Future must be perfect, not crooked. Teaching little girls holes become diamonds.

Table 5 - The Miniature Table (tiny): Two coffees forever. Even small girls get forever.

Table 6 - The Ring Table (secret drawer): Hole in blue sweater becomes diamond ring. Shame becomes worth.

Table 7 - The Wedding Table (8 feet, white cloth): The altar. Floor becomes altar. Little mouse becomes Mrs. Blackwood.

Table 8 - The Honeymoon Table (short legs, umbrella hole, beach sand): Love can travel far and come back. Salt in wood.

Table 9 - The Everyday Table (medium, scratched on purpose): Most important table. Not for wedding, not for honeymoon. For Tuesday 6am toast. Because the devil does not live on wedding day, he lives on boring Tuesday and whispers go back to floor. Ninth table says: No. Even on Tuesday, we eat on table.

So Table = Worth. Floor = No Worth.

If you are eating on the floor right now in your life - lonely, broke, hole in sweater - build a small table. Even crooked. Even scratched.

A crooked table still beats the floor.