Symphony of Destruction

It all started when my kitchen sink exploded. By luck or by the universe’s design, I was standing over the sink washing some dishes. And it just -

fell

- The sink detached from the countertop, into the cabinet below, snapping the pipe off. Water started gushing from the pipe and I stood there, frozen, probably in some kind of shock. Instinct took over, and I reached into the hole where it used to be, grabbed the double sink through of the hole - full of water - out of the cabinet and carried it out onto the balcony. Not before a fair amount of water had spilled trailing along the floor like blood from a wound.

I was done with this apartment and just didn’t know it yet. Spaces hold memories - the good and the bad - and this place grasped on to too many that I’d rather forget. Or, at least, let go of, and it’s not just this apartment, but the whole building. All around are the sounds of conflict and violence. And in my own home, a relationship that was long over, but lingered with its memories of blood and violence.

Yet I stayed because I had nowhere to go. The blood normalized, the dark emotions repressed.

Next, I noticed that the caulking around the bathtub was worn away. I brought in a specialist and asked him about the worst-case scenario: “Water seeps under the bathtub, weakens the floor, the whole tub falls in.” That’s on me: I did ask for the worst case.

Another thing that was my fault: cleaning the wooden stairs with Pledge. I lived in a two-story loft with a steep set of stairs that curled around. Don’t fault me for wanting the stairs to shine. The first time I went down them, I slipped, managing to grab the railing and stopping myself from tumbling to my death. It would have been a truly humiliating one: Death by Pledge. After slowly making my way down, I just decided to never go back upstairs again.

It felt like my apartment was imploding around me and wanting to take me with it.

Like a person, a space is impermanent, no matter how much we change it or renovate it or want to preserve it. There is a time when it is ready to move on to the afterlife, whatever that may be. When I looked around at my apartment, I saw only destruction. The door that she slammed after screaming at me. The wooden floor where I found her - I never could get the stain of her blood out from between the boards. The couch I sat on over many evenings wondering where she was after not coming home.

Dirty water dripped down the steps. I hadn't noticed the toilet exploded. And that’s when I realized that we all have to change, we all have to move on, whether we want to or not.

Got my hammer from the cabinet above the refrigerator. Stood in the middle of the apartment facing the windows. Raised the hammer like a conductor raises a baton, signalling to his orchestra that we were about to begin. Nodded to my audience without looking at them. And I started swinging the hammer wildly as though I was conducting the most violent and destructive symphony ever created.

I slammed the hammer into the wall and it got stuck. When I yanked it out, it pulled a chunk of wall with it. So, I kicked at it to make the hole bigger. I ripped off the cabinet doors in the kitchen, flinging them across the room. The door that she slammed got the same treatment - I kicked it right off its hinges and across the hallway to where it slammed to the ground.

Dust and decay swirled in the air as we came to a crescendo in the symphony.

The water had seeped under the bathtub enough that it fell from the second floor and crashed onto the kitchen counter, taking the counter with it. Water flew out of the pipes and the toilet went flying out of the window. I looked at the alleyway below to make sure no one was there, and I tossed all the furniture - chairs, couches, a desk - right off the balcony.

As water gurgled out the pipes and more holes were made in the walls, I turned to my final nemesis: the kitchen sink. Despite all the destruction, the sink remained in pristine condition. The music of the symphony had gone low, but you could hear it starting to build in the background. I took my baton/hammer and I got to work on the sink. Dented it, knocked the faucet off, and tore at the caulking. As the music was building, I got it loose from its perch, and slowly at first, but only at first, it moved. And I tore it off and threw out out the window to where it crashed on the ground below.

I lifted my arms and my baton into the air, signalling for the orchestra to hold that last big note, hold it as long as we could, and when we couldn’t hold it anymore, I dropped my hammer and walked out of the apartment, never to return.