Conversations with My (Former) Roommate

This is true. The walls echo and mock those of us who live alone. I'm certain it will stop once I've finished hanging pictures, buying furniture, and filling my closets with new junk. For now, though, I have to live on the memory-scraps of conversations I had with Stephanie before we split up our apartment last week.

Stephanie packs the kitchen while I do something less useful.

STEPHANIE: Do you want this box of tea?
SAM: Sure.
STEPHANIE: How about this quinoa?
SAM: Throw it out.
STEPHANIE: What about these spices?
SAM: You can keep them. You won't buy any more if I take them away.
STEPHANIE: Yes I would! ...No, I wouldn't.
SAM: Right.
STEPHANIE: What about these knives?
SAM: Those aren't my knives.
STEPHANIE: Yes, they are.
SAM: I don't think so.
STEPHANIE: I'm putting them in this box.
SAM: But they aren't mine!
STEPHANIE: Samantha.
SAM: Stephanie. Those aren't my knives.
STEPHANIE: You're taking these knives.

I still maintain those aren't my knives.

Later, Stephanie packs the decorations in the living room while I pass the time.

STEPHANIE: Where do you want me to pack this Russian doll?
SAM: That's not my doll.
STEPHANIE: [sighs] It's not my doll.
SAM: Why would I even have that? It's not mine.
STEPHANIE: But it's not mine.
SAM: Yes, it is.
STEPHANIE: Wait, didn't James bring this back from Russia for you?
SAM:...Well, maybe he did.
STEPHANIE: Maybe he brought you those knives from Russia, too.
SAM: Those aren't my knives.