Alphabet meme prompt from schellibie: "(Our Parents') Bedrooms, Ed and Al"
But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms,
and our parents' bedrooms,
and the bedrooms of our friends
Then we think of our parents,
well what the hell ever happened to them?
They begin living in the basement.
The doctor took most of their mother's things after the funeral and burned them in the backyard, to prevent any contagions from spreading; the bedsheets, the pillows, her clothes. The bed sits beneath the window, looking lonely and bare. The closet, though empty, still smells of soap and her perfume.
Their father's study had been left untouched. Books and papers are stacked around the room in dusty towers on the verge of collapse. While they had never seen their mother straighten up, she had cleaned the chair, wiping down the wood where they left fingerprints from climbing up to reach notes on the top of the stacks. She'd always tilt it out just so, as if Hohenheim might come home that very minute, stepping into the office to take his seat.
Ed finally moves his mattress downstairs after one too many painful all-nighters spent on the floor. An hour later, Al joins him.
"It's too quiet upstairs," he says, clutching his pillow to his chest. Ed ruffles his hair, and moves over.
They fall asleep listening to each other breathing.