Cable to Nothing

The coaxial cable lay coiled on the carpet like a dead snake, a reminder of the connection we'd spent three years building. I sat on the edge of the bed, my palm pressed against my forehead, trying to massage away the headache that had taken up residence since she left.

Barnaby, our golden retriever, nudged my knee with his wet nose. He'd been sleeping in her spot on the bed every night since the boxes were packed. The traitor.

"I know, buddy," I whispered. "I miss her too."

Outside, the neighbors were swimming in their pool—laughter splashing against the fence that separated our lives from theirs. Before, that sound had been annoying. Now it was just lonely.

I stood up and walked to the sliding glass door. Palm fronds from the tree in our—my—backyard scraped against the glass. She'd hated that tree. Said it dropped too many leaves in the pool we couldn't afford to resurface.

The cable modem blinked at me from the corner. One light steady. One light flickering like a dying heartbeat.

"You can stay connected to everything else," she'd said, standing in this very spot three weeks ago, "but you can't connect to me."

She was right. I'd spent our entire relationship wired to my work, my notifications, my constant digital hum. And now she was gone, and I was still here, tethered to a network that couldn't give me what I actually needed.

Barnaby whined at the door, wanting out. I let him into the backyard, where he immediately began digging near the palm tree, unearthing something half-buried in the mulch.

It was her old sunglasses. Polarized, scratched lens, one arm slightly bent. She'd been looking for these the day she moved out.

I picked them up and held them to the light. Through the scratched lens, the backyard looked different—warmer, softer, like how things used to be.

The neighbor's laughter drifted over the fence again. Barnaby looked back at me, tail wagging, ready to swim if I'd only fill the damn pool.

Maybe tomorrow.

I placed her sunglasses on the windowsill, sat down on the couch, and finally—finally—let myself cry while the dog licked the tears from my face and the cable modem kept blinking its useless little light.