Carol Can't Explain It

Two years ago, Carol got a new sofa.

Grey. Clean lines. She loved it.

The wall above it, though. Suddenly it looked bare in a way it never had before.

She thought about it for months. Scrolled. Closed the tab. Her mother had given her a mirror years ago so she tried that. It felt too formal for the room. She moved it to the entryway where it made more sense and the wall went blank again.

She grew up going to the Gulf every summer, barefoot. Stopped going as much after the kids. She doesn't think about that when she looks at the wall. She just knows something's missing.

Then one morning she saw an ad for Evening Shore, the sunset piece with driftwood.

She looked at it longer than she expected to.

She almost talked herself into the 16x32. It felt safer. But she ordered the Best Size Strips first, taped out the 20x40 on the wall above the sofa, lived with it for a day.

She stopped second-guessing. A few clicks later, her order was in. 

The week it arrived she pulled up to the house and saw the box by the front door before she even got out of the car. She brought it in before she put her keys down.

She hung it that afternoon.

Then she took a photo and texted it to her sister Danielle. No caption. Just the picture.

Danielle replied: oh that's perfect.

Now every morning she makes the same walk. Bedroom to kitchen. Coffee in hand. She stops at the end of the hallway and looks at it.

She can't explain it exactly. Her eyes go to it dozens of times a day.