ROSIE
I stood naked, facing the wall opposite the shower head. Icy drops sprayed at my ankles, ricocheting off in hopes of a cheap thrill while my buttocks flinched in a nonsexual fashion. The question in my head hung over like a bad night of drinking, "How did I let this happen again?"
The answer was not to be heard; neither was the steady, soft, hiss of water.
In its place a driving rain falls outside a little girl's home as she stands in the corner awaiting an end to time-out. Warmth radiates behind her in the form of heated conversation; mommy and daddy are at it again. It's all her fault of course--they'd not be arguing if it weren't for her clumsiness. If it weren't for her, that old vase would still be in one piece. She blocks out the shouts, focuses instead on what's in front of her. A faded floral print once bursting forth with royal blues and vibrant crimsons. Now it's all just a spectrum of smoke yellowed grays. She studies the intricacies of that worn wallpaper until the whinnying of an old motor breaks her reverie.
The washing machine. Not only is it sucking out all the hot water, it's stirring memories about like a wad of wet clothes clinging to a turbine.
She's older now.
In fact it's her fourteenth birthday. For once things are looking up. As a present her parents forked over enough cash to buy a handsome young pony. His clever eyes and confident gait lead her to name him "Trotter." In the midst of announcing this her drunken pull-my-finger uncle, Davey, yanks the pony's tail, sending Trotter on a one way collision course with a garbage truck. Tears blur the sight of her father and his brother arguing over which set of legs to grab. Bleary-eyed and blind, she hears only the grinding of the trash compactor as a not-yet-dead Trotter is disposed, complete with heave-ho grunts and the smooshing of flesh on metal. Even in her tallest high heels she can't reach him, stretching to save that lone, uncrushed hoof, if only for a reminder of better times past.
My arm extends to bat away a stringy cobweb, but I'm not tall enough.
She never was. Never would be. Not as tall as him anyway. Nowhere near the height of his dreams.
He wanted to play b-ball alongside Jordan, slam-dunking haters on and off the court of life. And he would have too; there aren't too many twelve year old boys who can lay claim to standing six foot three. Unlike most boys his age he wasn't self-conscious about his towering stature, choosing instead to embrace it. That's why one Halloween he dressed up as Bigfoot. Her family had been so entertained, so fully immersed in creating the most realistic costume, they'd not paid attention to their Terrier Trixie. She'd broken free of her leash and was probably treeing squirrels in the woods beyond their backyard. He'd always had an extra-close connection with Trixie, playing with her directly after school, sneaking table scraps to her at dinner, and cuddling up with her in bed. So it was that he ran into those woods, costumed, searching for his beloved dog, sobbing loudly, moaning out her name beneath that mask fashioned from fur pelts bought at a local thrift store.
Years later, her mother would wonder whether it was a testament to her seamstress abilities, or really just a tragedy which forever marred all future Halloweens. Lord knows it wasn't the hunter's fault. He was only doing what came naturally; for all he knew he'd bagged the real thing and strapped it to the roof of his car. He didn't know there was a beautiful young boy beneath that fur. That was a discovery for the taxidermist.
I turn around, intent on facing my demons, staring down that frigid spray, to take it in the face like a champ. The stream nips my knees as I step forward. I'm ready. Ready to become a new person, a courageous champion, having overcome the clutches of defeat. I raise my head, proud. Eyes closed. Awaiting the cold.
As I prepare for its frosty embrace, the water cuts out, stops. And I remember the water bill was due last week, an outstanding balance of $400 left unpaid. And that's the last straw.
Goddamnit. My life's been so hard.
All I want is a warm shower.
I stood naked, facing the wall opposite the shower head. Icy drops sprayed at my ankles, ricocheting off in hopes of a cheap thrill while my buttocks flinched in a nonsexual fashion. The question in my head hung over like a bad night of drinking, "How did I let this happen again?"
The answer was not to be heard; neither was the steady, soft, hiss of water.
In its place a driving rain falls outside a little girl's home as she stands in the corner awaiting an end to time-out. Warmth radiates behind her in the form of heated conversation; mommy and daddy are at it again. It's all her fault of course--they'd not be arguing if it weren't for her clumsiness. If it weren't for her, that old vase would still be in one piece. She blocks out the shouts, focuses instead on what's in front of her. A faded floral print once bursting forth with royal blues and vibrant crimsons. Now it's all just a spectrum of smoke yellowed grays. She studies the intricacies of that worn wallpaper until the whinnying of an old motor breaks her reverie.
The washing machine. Not only is it sucking out all the hot water, it's stirring memories about like a wad of wet clothes clinging to a turbine.
She's older now.
In fact it's her fourteenth birthday. For once things are looking up. As a present her parents forked over enough cash to buy a handsome young pony. His clever eyes and confident gait lead her to name him "Trotter." In the midst of announcing this her drunken pull-my-finger uncle, Davey, yanks the pony's tail, sending Trotter on a one way collision course with a garbage truck. Tears blur the sight of her father and his brother arguing over which set of legs to grab. Bleary-eyed and blind, she hears only the grinding of the trash compactor as a not-yet-dead Trotter is disposed, complete with heave-ho grunts and the smooshing of flesh on metal. Even in her tallest high heels she can't reach him, stretching to save that lone, uncrushed hoof, if only for a reminder of better times past.
My arm extends to bat away a stringy cobweb, but I'm not tall enough.
She never was. Never would be. Not as tall as him anyway. Nowhere near the height of his dreams.
He wanted to play b-ball alongside Jordan, slam-dunking haters on and off the court of life. And he would have too; there aren't too many twelve year old boys who can lay claim to standing six foot three. Unlike most boys his age he wasn't self-conscious about his towering stature, choosing instead to embrace it. That's why one Halloween he dressed up as Bigfoot. Her family had been so entertained, so fully immersed in creating the most realistic costume, they'd not paid attention to their Terrier Trixie. She'd broken free of her leash and was probably treeing squirrels in the woods beyond their backyard. He'd always had an extra-close connection with Trixie, playing with her directly after school, sneaking table scraps to her at dinner, and cuddling up with her in bed. So it was that he ran into those woods, costumed, searching for his beloved dog, sobbing loudly, moaning out her name beneath that mask fashioned from fur pelts bought at a local thrift store.
Years later, her mother would wonder whether it was a testament to her seamstress abilities, or really just a tragedy which forever marred all future Halloweens. Lord knows it wasn't the hunter's fault. He was only doing what came naturally; for all he knew he'd bagged the real thing and strapped it to the roof of his car. He didn't know there was a beautiful young boy beneath that fur. That was a discovery for the taxidermist.
I turn around, intent on facing my demons, staring down that frigid spray, to take it in the face like a champ. The stream nips my knees as I step forward. I'm ready. Ready to become a new person, a courageous champion, having overcome the clutches of defeat. I raise my head, proud. Eyes closed. Awaiting the cold.
As I prepare for its frosty embrace, the water cuts out, stops. And I remember the water bill was due last week, an outstanding balance of $400 left unpaid. And that's the last straw.
Goddamnit. My life's been so hard.
All I want is a warm shower.
posted by Pretty Awesome @ 10:36 PM
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