Clothes smother me. I am in a box. Tires roll through wet concrete and water splashes against the side of the vehicle. The sound of the rain on the rooftop is somehow soothing, blending into the symphony of urban noise.

I spent the last several months propped on a musician’s couch. It was a late snowy winter afternoon when he found me on my side, leaning against a garbage bin on the sidewalk outside a café. As soon as he laid eyes on me, he stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with surprise. The wind was easing, and the flakes were larger and fluffier, settling on his parka, scarf and dark hair. He shook himself visibly and approached me, grabbed me gently, and took me home.

He stared at me constantly, and I later found out I looked like his ex-girlfriend. On Valentine’s Day, he planned the perfect proposal, but her reaction caught him off guard. They ran together regularly, and the sight of the creek was always a welcome respite from the monotony of their route. They always stopped for a bit to enjoy the view. It was winter; the snow fell lightly, and the ice was cracking along the sides; the sound of water rumbled softly against the rocks. He took out the ring, and she crumbled to the ground, tears streaming down her face. She confessed she was married. Her husband was in India; it was an arranged marriage. She was here studying to be a doctor. She wanted to marry the musician because she loved him, but that was that. I adored listening to his voice telling these stories; he really loved her. People only love my looks. 

One day, his sister told him he had to get rid of her things…and of me.

The vehicle stops. Doors open and my box shifts. I hear the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the box, the sound of a heavy door slamming shut, and footsteps on concrete. Suddenly, the movement stops. Two people are talking.

“Bruno, my family was super understanding. You should tell them!” a woman says.

“You do not know my family! They are super religious. I was in denial forever. I had girlfriends before… I was with Kate for three years. Then I met Matt…and I couldn’t deny it anymore,” Bruno says. “But still. I cannot begin to imagine having that conversation! Where do I do it? At the dinner table? Do I invite Matt to church with us? Tell my dad while we are blessing ourselves with holy water?” Bruno laughs bitterly. 

“Do you love him?” she says. “Or is it just a fling…” 

“I do love him. But at this point, it’s my family, or him. Maybe I should just marry some girl and have babies. Make my momma proud,” he says sarcastically. “Damn…look at the time! Matt’s waiting for me downtown. Can you lock up, Ash?”

“Sure thing.”

Footsteps resonate through the room, accompanied by the shuffling of objects and Ash talking on her phone. The sharp sound of the door shutting reverberates through the concrete, leaving a sober silence in its wake. All I hear is the rain hitting the roof, and the air is damp and chilly. 

By morning the rain has stopped. Bruno and Ash arrive and they sound happier; maybe the sun is shining. I miss the kissing warmth of the sun.

The constant clashing of bins being moved echo through the building all morning.

“What are you doing for lunch?” Ash says. “Wanna go to that new café?”

“Matt’s meeting me at the pizza place. You should come with us! You will love him,” Bruno says.

“Anna’s meeting me there. But you’ll have to introduce us soon!”

They leave me alone again. Muffled voices and noises are coming from beyond a wall. Am I in a garage? Is there a house attached?

A little while later, I hear a thud at the entrance and someone crying.

More noise by the door. “Bruno!” Ash says. “What’s wrong?”

Bruno sobs harder and fists pound the wall. 

“Can I call someone? What’s going on!”

Bruno takes a deep breath. “My mother saw us! She saw us kissing!”

“Come here…sit down,” Ash says. “Tell me everything.” Her voice is grounded and soothing.

“We had a great lunch…he is so amazing. I was waiting at the crosswalk, and he kissed me goodbye. When I was crossing the street, I noticed my mother was stopped at the light, looking completely shocked. I wanted the road to swallow me! She stopped along the sidewalk, so I had to get in and talk to her. She asked if I was gay and when I said yes, she told me I had to move out. I couldn’t say a word! It’s like I was paralyzed. She went on and on about how much of a disgrace I was and that being gay was a choice. In the entire conversation, the only word I spoke was yes.” Bruno lets out a deep, weary sigh.

“You can stay with us until you figure everything out,” Ash says. “Just buy a toothbrush and get some clothes from here…that way you won’t have to step foot in the house for your stuff till you’re ready. We have a comfy couch!”

Bruno blows his nose, and his chair scrapes against the floor. “Okay. Time to start working. Maybe it will help. Or make my brain work overtime.”

He walks in my direction and comes to a stop beside me. I hear the scraping of cardboard and my box opens. It is mostly filled with belongings of the musician’s love. He removes the clothes from my face, lifts me carefully, and leans me against the wall. Bruno’s skin looks pale against his rich brown hair, shaved over the ears and longer on top, peaked in tiny spikes. He hunches over and removes a pair of runners, clothes, books, and a few empty picture frames; his protruding stomach has a stain of pizza sauce.

When he flattens the box, a photo falls out of the bottom folds. The couple in the picture stand against a stunning backdrop of evergreens and mountain peaks.

“Look, Ash! This woman looks exactly like the painting!”

Ash is moving bins in the corner, her blond ponytail bobbing as she stacks them. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she walks over. 

They look at the picture, then directly at me.

“You’re right. I wonder if he painted it or if they hired someone?” She gestures at the musician in the photo.

“What should we sell it for…five dollars?”  He picks up a small metal contraption, fiddles with different buttons which produce an orange sticker. He puts the sticker on his finger and attaches it to my frame. Sorting through the clothes, he does the same thing, puts them on hangers and onto a mobile rack. His phone buzzes loudly. 

“Look what she just sent me!” Bruno says. His eyes are glued to the screen, completely engrossed in the video playing.

“Oh, my god. It’s a reverend interviewing a guy that’s gay, but suppresses it, because it’s sinful. Apparently, he was a promiscuous. Well, find someone you love! Don’t be a tramp! He wants to be accepted by God. Unreal! God created you this way!”  

“What is she thinking?” Ash says. “Seeing that she is so religious, does she really think that God makes mistakes? He made us exactly how we are supposed to be.” She scoffs, furrows her brows over her blue eyes and gives the clothing rack a fierce push forward. “Grab the painting. Let’s bring this stuff into the store.”

Bruno picks me up and pillows me on his belly. Ash pushes a button, which opens a double door.

The phone rings, and a woman with a kind face and frumpy appearance answers, “Thrift Mart, Esther speaking.” She is at a sunny counter next to a massive wall-sized window.

The man who created me often said that paintings should not be in the sun, it ruins them. Humans age. His wife was bent over and wrinkled before she died, and he still loved her. Why can’t I age? 

I hope they put me near the window, on a sun-drenched wall.