Cheese.

Love is about the Coke Zeros that magically appeared in the garage, a 32 pack.

"I don't remember buying that," My mother insisted when I asked her about it. She wouldn't buy them. She doesn't drink them, she drinks a ton of Diet Pepsi's.

"Remember? I bought them," My stepfather finally replied, sitting next to her on the bed. "At Costco."

The plastic covering was torn as the case set on the shelf, but no one bothered to put any in the frig. For, apparently, days since we hadn't been to Costco in a while.

I only noticed them because I bought more. At Costco. Now, we have plenty of Coke Zero's. Two packages of 32's.

If you came home to a chair moved in your house, you'd be worried. YOu left the chair in the dining room, now it's setting in the middle of the fucking kitchen. The house had no evidence of a break in. No windows smashed. In fact, everything was locked up just like you left it. The only thing wrong: the fucking chair.

It's a good example because a slightly more complicated one is the biscuit story. I came home, parents were both gone. A ziplock bag was opened, clearly with a knife, left on the floor in front of the door. This is important. And pieces of biscuit were on the rug. We own dogs. No one else was home. NO one else had been home. NO signs of break in. The biscuits had been in the garbage which is kept behind a door. To get to the house, you have to open a electric gate. YOu have to have a code. Someone has that code. Someone played with the dogs. Got into the house. And then left.

What was worse: when I asked my parents about it, they made up different stories. They were horrible stories. The dogs jumped up on the counter, got the biscuits down, the stories changed, even though I remembered where the biscuits had been.

Forget the biscuits. WE don't care about the biscuits.

Other things happened. The worse though was when I was home. YOu don't want someone sneaking in and out of your home while you're showering. The water is running, you can't hear, and you have someone sneaking past the closed door. Think it can't happen?

Think again. It did. To me. Sihg.

Here's the scene. No, this is good. Better than the biscuits. You have to walk past my shower/bathroom to get to the master bedroom. Someone walk in my mother's room, pull out her garbage, closed the door again, put the garbage all on the floor, cut it open with a knife, spread it around on the floor of the kitchen, and then left. While the dogs were home. I told my father about it within hours. He wasn't concerned. AT all. Half of me thinks he did it. Half of me thinks someone else did it. Most of me thinks it really doesn't matter.

Every day and night, I stare at the "message" on my mirror. What probably happened is it's the headphone box that someone pressed up against the dust on the mirror and then slide down. IN my bedroom. Why would anyone do that? You're thinking. I know. I think the same thing. Everyday. It's kind of creepy. But it's a reminder that your own, is not your own. YOur stuff is not your stuff. It's a small form of vandalism. Right in your own home.

And then, the Coke Zero's. So, if you asked me, if I thought my stepfather really bought them. I'd say. NO.