I know it was you.
I remember the day we first met. Well, it was dusk really, not so much a day. It was a point in time when the last rays of sun gently caressed the earth, where the reds, oranges, purples of the sunset gave way to greys of the moonlight. When the crickets began their chirping, and nocturnal animals came out to play, live and escape from their predators.
The light in your room was on as I slowly approached the front door. I had to knock five times, loudly, before you even opened the door. That should have been my first clue that there was something not right. The door opened to reveal your shaggy brown hair, tied in a ponytail. I was immediately hit with a smell of weeks’ worth of unwashed dishes, full garbage cans and poor personal hygiene. Though, to be fair to you, you did just spend 18 hours at work. The latter could be excused. I have no idea how that place can get away with such blatant disregard of labor laws.
I introduced myself as your roommate for at least the next semester. You were nice enough, in fact, you looked rather happy to see me. I thought it was because of me, but in a few months, I would realize it was because I was your personal dishwasher. Due to that good first impression, I thought that I hit the roommate jackpot. Oh, how naïve I was.
I can tolerate your throwing away things that do not belong to you. Most of my stuff that you threw away was going to trash in a week or so anyway, or I would not just leave it lying around. I can tolerate that whenever you empty the vacuum cleaner’s bag, you do not substitute it for a new one, so I always have to clean the interior after next use. I can handle you hocking loogies at five in the morning. I can even handle you not cleaning the dishes after yourself, because frankly, after eleven broken plates, bent utensils and destroyed pots, I do not trust you with them.
In exchange, you only had to follow a few simple rules.
Be respectful, be fun, do NOT burn the place down.
Each has to give 30 dollars in a special pot at the beginning of the month for groceries.
Sink in the kitchen and bathroom must always be clean and empty.
When listening to loud sounds after 10pm, use headphones.
If food container has a name on it, do NOT mess with it.
I rarely utilized the last rule. I mean, I rarely put my name on anything. We had different tastes, so we pretty much kept our food to ourselves. Except in one case. I always put my name on ice-cream. It is a special brand, you see, quite an expensive one. Yet, even though I bought it in large quantities that ought to last me months, it was gone in a few weeks. I did not realize it at first, but there was no way I could eat all that in such a short time.
So, I will say it again. I know it was you.
By now, you must be feeling a weird twinge in your stomach. You think to yourself that it must be the guilt making you that way. It is not. I have not touched the ice-cream in a couple of weeks except for one thing. I added a whole bottle of Miralax to it. I think the gurgling in your stomach worsened right now. The power of knowledge and suggestion is a great thing. You better hurry to the bathroom. Please, do not forget to clean up after yourself.
I wonder where I should hide this letter. It would just not do if you see it before eating the ice-cream. I think I will put it in a thin zip-lock bag and place it in the ice-cream container under the delicious goodness. That way you will definitely see it. Maybe not now, but definitely in the future.
I hope you will remember. NEVER mess with my ice-cream.
Your loving roommate,