Free The Universe is a Very Big Place by APRIL ASHEIM

him from the thought. It was the fat man who took the rent.
    "Is that your truck out there?" The man walked across the living room to an opposite window and pointed outside to the parking lot.  
    "...Because I think someone just jacked your rims."
     
     

 
     
    Seven
     
     
    Spring sat at the vanity in her bedroom, working a stubborn knot out of her hair. It was the first vanity she had ever owned, purchased by Sam as a gift when he was out antiquing one day. He was very proud of his purchase and had even rented a U-Haul to bring it back, along with the grandfather clock in the living room. The vanity was a bit ornate for her taste with its scrolled edge work but Sam insisted that all ladies owned such things and so she had acquiesced.
    Her room was small, hardly big enough for their Queen Anne Bed, the Goodwill dresser which had been spray-painted white by its previous owner, and the vanity. Sam frequently complained of this, but Spring didn’t mind the size of the space. It was a bedroom. In a house. And she had never had a bedroom or a house before. Even if the home was a rental, it was the nicest place she had ever lived.
    Spring turned slightly to watch Sam’s movements. He had his back to her, swinging his arms wildly like a goose in flight, as he mock-conducted Bach on the stereo. He clutched two dark dress socks in his hands which served as impotent wands, creating small tracers around him. She wasn’t allowed to talk during classical music hour, so she busied herself with biting her nails while waiting for the song to end. The problem with Bach, however, was that she wasn’t sure when one song ended and another began.
    "Sam," she called finally, and he jumped, tossing the socks in opposite directions. He had probably forgotten that she was there. "You said you were going to talk to me. I really need you right now."
    Sam lowered the volume on the stereo and opened his night stand, producing another pair of black socks bound together with a rubber band. He sat on the edge of the bed and removed the pair of socks he was wearing and replaced them with the new ones. Sam changed his socks at least three times a day and his underwear twice as often. God didn’t like germs.  
    "What were we going to talk about again? Remind me, Pooks."
    "My clothes. Kimberly made me feel like I was a vagabond. I don’t see anything wrong with this." Spring pulled at the side of her skirt for Sam to inspect.
    "I think you are making a big deal over nothing," Sam said, gathering up both pairs of loose socks. He tossed them into a hamper in the corner of the room. Three out of four of them missed. Sam sighed and retrieved them, dropping them gingerly inside. "It’s an old skirt."
    "But it’s my skirt." Spring could feel the words twist in her throat and come slithering out in the form of a whine. "Can’t you be supportive? Ever?"
    Sam paused a moment, rubbing the fingers of both hands methodically against his thumbs. "You’re a beautiful woman. You’re about to turn thirty and I think that pisses you off. Maybe it’s time to put your little girl days behind you."  
    Spring spun in his direction and he flinched.
    "I didn’t mean you were old, Pookie. Or that you dressed like a kid. I only meant, well, that’s an ugly dress. Look at it. You’re two purple flowers shy of being your mother." Sam stopped, leaving room for Spring to speak. When she said nothing he continued. "A few nice suits. A pair of heels without wedges. Accessories that don’t turn your skin green. That’s what you need to be wearing."
    Spring looked at her reflection again. A barrette dangled from the side of her head. She pulled it out and tossed it in a basket Sam had purchased for her hair accessories. Sam had baskets for everything, including smaller baskets. "I guess you are right."
    "Enough of that for now." Sam posed, his back slightly hunched in the manner of a cartoon butler. "I have news. Very, very important news."
    "Is everything okay?" When