Memoir

From a Second Floor Bathtub in the Rain

As I lower myself through steam, I’m transported to a place without time. It’s just me, this water, and this room. I sink into myself. Water ripples the hair at my temples while I close my eyes and sink deeper until only my nose and knees are above the waterline. I imagine I’m a submarine, hidden deep and safe in the warm water. Familiar lavender and palm leaves rise all around me, scenting the air. Ears submerged, the old-timey swing music of Glenn Miller playing just a few feet from me sounds much farther away. I imagine I’m listening secretly through a closed door, hearing the muffled trumpets and trombones play their lively tune.

Held in the water, my body is amplified. I hear every heartbeat; every breath, as if it were right next to my ear. Each thought is magnified until my mind swims in static. I try to clear it all away; to think of nothing; to relax, but my mind keeps falling around him. I smile against the water and let my thoughts drift to conversations we’ve had about the way our minds are broken in some of the same places and that despite the cracks, his looks so beautiful to me. I think of the way his eyes remind me of some of my favorite paintings and that even though we might just be tourists in each other’s lives, he’s a song I want to keep listening to.

When at last I emerge, the cooler air of the room refreshes the skin on my face, my breasts, my back, my arms. The music gets louder as my little underwater world fades to black. I rejoin the present moment. The colour in this room has been enhanced while the stresses of life disappear. I’m rejuvenated, but the soapy water couldn’t clean off the smile he painted on my face.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.