T A Y L O R   B Y A S


It’s None Of My Business, But


listen, something ain’t right. When I drive
through the hilly parts of Birmingham, where the nice
houses have matching mailboxes and some driveways snake
a half-mile up from the curb, the curtains
go missing. And I mean gone, nothing but a crisp,
Windexed eye into another life. I’m talking technicolor,

HD: Admit it; you’ve slowed your car to see the color
of that vintage sofa, watched the car on the tv drive
out of the side of that all-glass high-ris (the picture’s so crisp,
my god)
,noticed the luster of the silver picture frames (nice
family, and it even looks like they’re matching).No curtains,
no blinds, just a dining room out in the open, a runner snaking

down the center of the table, the good china with the snake-
like ridges curling along the plates’ edges, an entire color-
coordinated affair. And those Pottery Barn slipcovers curtained
over the chairs? $100 each. (I checked). But doesn’t it drive
you crazy, the fact that you can’t look away? Just look at the nice
chandelier in the half-mooned glass above the front door, its crisp

tapered layers. The potted plants in the front window sill crisping
in the sunlight. And have you ever seen a hallway that snaked
from the living room back into the kitchen? Then you get a nice
view of the fake fruit arrangements, the just-a-little-off color
of waxy pears and grapes I’m sure the children have driven
into their mouths to be disappointed, (let’s not forget the curtain

of spit to be Clorox-wiped from the surface). And no curtains
in the bedroom is risky but here we are. A pencil skirt crisp
from the iron next to a crumpled tshirt that says You drive
me wild on the bed’s comforter. A handful of belts snaking
down from a hook over the closet door (yes the clothes are color-
coded in the walk-in, I know, it’s crazy) but damn it’s a nice

house and you get a little jealous. But then you think it’s too nice,
that there’s no way a family could be comfortable with no curtains
in the living room window, absolutely no way the crème colored
carpet is still in tip-top shape, no way the fruit looks so crisp
in that bowl, and who’s to say it’s fake at all? Your eyes snake
through the open windows one last time before you drive

off and decide that it is too nice, that the rooms aren’t colored
by a family’s existence. And now you wish for curtains, a snaking
drawstring to pull closed on the crisp fall nights. But you drive.
You drive.




headliner image: seacresthomes





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