While I was out Anderson rearranged the entire apartment. My chair no longer sat in the corner facing the big screen TV. My chair now sat facing the picture window. And the big screen TV was in the hallway where watching it would be impractical if not impossible. In the kitchen the table rested on two legs, its surface now used for tacking up drawings the nieces and nephews had sent. In the icebox I found my shoes, the TV Guide, a beard trimmer, a Matchbox car I had not seen since childhood, and some important papers. The marriage certificate was not among them. I later discovered it in the bathroom, underneath the Clawfoot tub. Anderson was nowhere to be found. With trepidation I walked down the hall, now the TV room, toward the bedroom. I passed the bathroom where the aquarium sat on the toilet. The bedroom door was closed. What would I find there? I wondered. Perhaps no bed, perhaps pictures of Anderson's lovers instead of the framed poem which once sat on the nightstand. Perhaps all my power tools would be displayed on the credenza which we had moved to the garage. Perhaps Anderson herself would be there, but changed, changed utterly, a new Anderson with lighter hair, tattoos and a figure more zaftig than previously imagined. Perhaps, and this was my greatest fear, the room would be empty as if no one had ever lived there, the wall down to pasteboard, the floor unpolished wood. The bedroom door was closed. I stood a long time outside it. I was relieved the door was closed and that Anderson was not at home. I would make these discoveries myself. I would face them and they would become part of me and I would be an agent of change, also, rather than its cat's-paw. I raised my fist to knock on the bedroom door. What if a stranger were inside? Right before I knocked I heard Anderson's key in the apartment door. I turned toward the sound. When she entered she would not be able to see me. I could decide not to answer her inquiring call of my name. Would she call my name? I could enter the bedroom and disappear and she would be the one left querulous and dazed. I knew what to do. Just as I put my hand on the bedroom doorknob Anderson called from the den, "You ask why I don't live here, Honey, how come you don't move?" Though not original, it was her best line.