The Square

Sunlight found its way into the room, making up a white frame around the short dark curtain that only just shaded the window. The glow cascading around the shaded window reminded him of Morita’s black square. He breathed. Ali would have giggled mercilessly at this comical thought. He sat on the edge of the bed, perturbed about his plans. The box was in the living room, and he craved to go, to open it, and have a magic familiarity. He said he would cover all the mirrors in the house. He did not want this to be an instant to face bleak reality, but a time to run out of it. Should he change his wardrobe? He had pardoned himself from work today and had put on his relaxation wardrobe out of common custom. But was this suitable? Maybe. After all, most of their time as one had taken place on weekends and holidays, as if it were something to celebrate. He began his job by covering each mirror with painstaking maintenance. When he was finished, he brushed the settee Ali had loved to sit on. He grabbed the compendium and placed it wisely beside the settee. He unfastened the box and found another one sitting inside. In the less significant cardboard box was a Styrofoam head that clasped the wig in its place. He took it out and grabbed the air for a deep breath. It did not smell like her, but it seemed faultless. He placed the hair piece on his prudently detangled hair. He sat motionless and read a memo on the invoice: “Rendering to your biddings, we have assembled your wife’s hair as in the picture you sent us.”