But that's what makes the best showers, I suppose...I had nowhere to be. No one to be clean for. Just a desire to be cleansed. The water was hotter than normal. I don't like hot water, it makes my face red. But it was hot this time. I turned the shower head to hit me directly in the back of the head, making sure to turn the dial in the center towards "Needle." I stood perfectly still so that all of the water poured off the back of my head, except for two needles of water on the left and right sides. The needles hit me in the backs of my ears.
The rush of water filled my brain, like static, like someone was interfering with my signals. I listened. All I could hear was a dull, flat rush and the trickling of water. I closed my eyes, expecting to find myself completely relaxed. But the water got hotter, distracting me. I found that all I could think about was that patch of black mold in the corner behind me on my left side. I'd tried scrubbing it, but it didn't make a difference. Without a doubt, the small patch wasn't the whole of the mold. I pictured in my mind pulling down the plastic shower wall to reveal rotten wooden slats, crawling with crusty black mold, emitting spores into the air. I pictured the black goo pouring down into the tub. You breathe it in, and you don't even know it. Black mold kills you, you know.
It occurred to me that while I was standing there, naked, with needles of water rapping my ears, that I was dying. As surely as if I were sucking on a cigarette, or worse, squeezing the trigger of a gun pressed into the roof of my mouth, I was dying. I couldn't tell if it scared me or not. The water was awfully hot. What would it matter really? Dying naked standing up for twenty, thirty, forty years, breathing in tiny fungi that filled my lungs until one day, when I suck at the air and realize that my lungs no longer move and I drown in myself? Or dying of old age? Or a disease? Or an accident? I didn't think it mattered. We all went through it. But then again, that's easy to say while you're standing naked with warm water pouring over you. But nevertheless, I didn't think it mattered.
Not that I would ever try and hurt myself. It mattered more than that. After all, I have a paralyzing fear of injury.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was water drops, all in a row, marching down the side of the tub. Toward the drain. A death-march. It seemed appropriate.
And then I noticed that for the first time in two weeks, the drain hadn't clogged while I was taking a shower, and I didn't have to stand there cleaning myself while standing ankle-deep in my own soapy filth.
The rush of water filled my brain, like static, like someone was interfering with my signals. I listened. All I could hear was a dull, flat rush and the trickling of water. I closed my eyes, expecting to find myself completely relaxed. But the water got hotter, distracting me. I found that all I could think about was that patch of black mold in the corner behind me on my left side. I'd tried scrubbing it, but it didn't make a difference. Without a doubt, the small patch wasn't the whole of the mold. I pictured in my mind pulling down the plastic shower wall to reveal rotten wooden slats, crawling with crusty black mold, emitting spores into the air. I pictured the black goo pouring down into the tub. You breathe it in, and you don't even know it. Black mold kills you, you know.
It occurred to me that while I was standing there, naked, with needles of water rapping my ears, that I was dying. As surely as if I were sucking on a cigarette, or worse, squeezing the trigger of a gun pressed into the roof of my mouth, I was dying. I couldn't tell if it scared me or not. The water was awfully hot. What would it matter really? Dying naked standing up for twenty, thirty, forty years, breathing in tiny fungi that filled my lungs until one day, when I suck at the air and realize that my lungs no longer move and I drown in myself? Or dying of old age? Or a disease? Or an accident? I didn't think it mattered. We all went through it. But then again, that's easy to say while you're standing naked with warm water pouring over you. But nevertheless, I didn't think it mattered.
Not that I would ever try and hurt myself. It mattered more than that. After all, I have a paralyzing fear of injury.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was water drops, all in a row, marching down the side of the tub. Toward the drain. A death-march. It seemed appropriate.
And then I noticed that for the first time in two weeks, the drain hadn't clogged while I was taking a shower, and I didn't have to stand there cleaning myself while standing ankle-deep in my own soapy filth.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home