A long time ago, I found a pair of black roller skates on someone's lawn while I was walking the dog. I had a really great idea about something I could do with those roller skates but I did not steal the skates, yet.
At least two more days passed, Chloe and me routing our walk to consider the skates. When it became apparent that nobody actually wanted these skates, I took them.
I took the skates home, and I put them on the table in my work room, the work room with built-in cupboards that was one of the reasons we bought that house in the first place. The work room that was a floody nightmare, with spiders and bad lighting I never brought myself to deal with. These are the reasons I said I didn't make more mosaics, oh, the conditions in that room! Who could work in there? But really, I never made any mosaics after I miscarried. And that's all there really is to it.
I had even drawn some sketches out for the skates. I don't know where they are now. But I know I did that.
So at a certain point last summer, my father and I went to the house in Hamilton for the last time to gather up what was left of my things after the movers had finished the bulk of it. Kevin left the dog in the house so I "could say goodbye." After everything else he did, I still think that was the biggest asshole move he made, the most deliberate, intentionally hurtful thing he could have thought of to do. And he did it. Sort of funny really. He wanted out of a marriage, I just wanted my shit. So what was the fucking point?
Most of the leftover things were in the basement and most of the things were things to make mosaics with. I said to my dad, this is pointless, but we moved them anyway. Then six boxes of mosaic supplies sat in my bedroom until March, when I decided to repaint. I piled them in the living room thinking what's in my face constantly would be dealt with speedily (wrong). I began, finally, this morning.
The first box was easy. Then, in the second box, the skates.