Bit by bit, with out making a sound, I crane my head around the corner of the bathroom door. She pokes her head out of the shower as I strain to see through the heavy wet air that weighs down my breath and pours almost visibly into the hallway. The scent of her shampoo strikes against my face. I can’t wait any longer. I have to go now!
“Mommie?”
“The door’s open!” she calls. “Get in here, you’re letting out all the hot air!”
I slip in, slam the door behind me and run over to plop my pink rear down on the toilet. As I balance myself on the edge, one hand on either side of the bowl to keep myself from slipping in I stare at her through a screen of hot air. She bends over in the tub, roughly towel drying her naked body with an expertise that I have not yet understood. I grimace at each stroke she takes. I know exactly what it felt like to have her hands forcing that rough towel over the surface of warm water tendered skin, yet she doesn’t hesitate or flinch. She casually wraps her hair in another towel. As the air starts to settle she lifts her head and steps out of the tub. She catches me looking at her and shots me an irritated look as she turns towards the wall. I scramble to pull up my pants before she turns away.
“Don’t forget to flush!”
“I didn’t tried to. . .”
“Well try not to!” I pause and let my stomach fill up with that sour familiar phrase. My chest tenses up, then I throw it away, forget about it. I am loose again and I scramble up on the counter, plant my two feet in the sink and turn towards the mirror. That’s when I notice it. A fine coat of some sort of mystery stuff clings to the glass. I can’t make out my features. There is only the deception of some shape and shadow. As I put my hand up to touch it my skin slips across the surface. I pull away and an imprint of my hand is left in place.
“What is it?”
“I dunno.” She is just quiet. I inch my face closer to the mirror.
“What makes it happen?” She continues to get dressed, her clothing resting on the back of the toilet and her damp towel discarded at her feet. I inch closer.
“But how did it get there?” My head whips around, she is still bent over to pull on her pants. I take my opportunity. My tongue runs up the glass, just enough to really taste it. It tastes like nothing. I whip my head back around, she has turned towards the wall to button her jeans shut. I grab a washcloth and run it under the faucet, ringing it out over my feet that sit so comfortable against the cool ceramic of the sink basin.
“Should I wash it?” I start to move the washcloth in large arches across the surface of the glass before she even replies. Teardrops form in its trail.
“It’s just water, that’s not going to make any difference, just let it dry off.”
She flings open the door and rushes out of the bathroom. As she leaves cool air rushes in and the room clears out. Goose bumps cling to my chest and arms. I can breath clearly again. As I watch, my eyes fixed on what is left of that strange, unfamiliar curtain that clings to the mirror, everything begins to fade. Foreign features slowly become clear, shapes and shadow become distinct, I don’t recognize what is there looking back at me.
“You said you didn’t know what it was.” I whisper to the stranger.
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