Cable Out

The coaxial cable hung limp from the wall like a dead snake, its silver connector catching the afternoon light that filtered through the blinds. Marcus had disconnected it himself three days ago, tired of the noise, the constant stream of bad news, the couples laughing their way through commercials that made his empty living room feel emptier still.

Now he stood reconsidering. Forty-two years old and swimming in the kind of quiet that creeps under your skin and makes you wonder if you've forgotten how to be touched. His ex-wife's voice echoed in memory: *You shut down, Marcus. You unplug everything.*

A scratching sound drew him to the window. On the fire escape, a calico cat sat licking its paw, indifferent to his observation. It had been showing up for weeks—skinny at first, then filling out. Marcus had started leaving food, though he told himself it was just to keep it from getting into the trash. Last night he'd caught himself talking to it. *Sad, Terry. Sad.*

He named things to keep them. The stray was Terry. His ex was gone, but her voice had stayed.

The cat looked up, yellow eyes locking with his, and Marcus felt something shift in his chest. A recognition.

He picked up the cable, his fingers finding the threading automatically. The job paid for this apartment, the food, the quiet. He was the cable guy, the one who connected everyone else to something real. Funny how he'd disconnected himself.

Terry meowed, a demanding sound.

"Yeah," Marcus said aloud, his voice rusty in the silence. "I hear you."

He pushed the cable back into the port. It clicked—satisfying, final. The television flickered to life, some reality show washing the room in artificial light. But he didn't care what was on. He was thinking about the woman in 4B who'd smiled at him in the hallway last week, the way her hand had lingered on the doorframe like she was considering something, hesitating.

Maybe connections weren't about cables at all. Maybe they were about showing up, about staying plugged in even when the signal was full of static.

Marcus opened the window. Terry darted in, tail high, and headed straight for the couch like she owned the place. Maybe she did. He'd been swimming alone so long he'd forgotten there were other ways to float.

He sat down beside her and reached for his phone. 4B. It was time to reconnect.