Bathroom Floor

The bathroom floor smells like lemon product. Not lemon but rather a sort of pungent chemical smell that wants to be lemon. It burns the nose but not in that sharp, pleasant way that wakes up your sinuses. I can see all the little hairs around the toilet and a dead pincher bug, looking almost like a speck of shit. The bathroom floor feels cold on my face. Right now, my brain is only registering everything on a sensory level, like a cockroach. My skin is hard and unfeeling like a bug’s armor. I’m all hollowed out inside.

Mom buys these little pink razors with the safety strip and the lotion strip and strip all that away… all there is blade, sharp and unyielding. I press it to my cheek. It feels cold, just like the floor. But the cool strip of metal is not enough to make me feel again. Nothing feels real; I need something real. My stomach scrunches up like I ate something sour. I curl up, limbs sticking. My body is rigid like the bug under the toilet. I reach over to my hip, wince and wait for the pain and the fiery release to make me alive again.

“Rebel girl! Rebel girl! Rebel girl you are the queen of my world!” my phone sings on the other side of the floor where my jeans are. Kathleen Hanna’s irreverent vocals cut through even the thick denim. That’s the ringtone I picked for Dizzie. Why is Dizzie calling? I look over at the dead bug under the toilet and my heart starts hammering. I lift my head from the chemical lemon floor and it almost sticks for a second. How long have I been lying there. The person in the mirror looks like Hell. She’s got a red imprint on her face from lying on the bathroom floor. Her eyes look puffy and dark. This girl in the mirror needs to take better care of herself.

I pick up the phone and check  my voicemail. I have one. New. Message:

“Hey, Sadie lady! I wanted to see if you wanted to jam tonight. You seemed a little down today so I figured you needed a little pick-me-up! Chev rented Dawn of the Dead. The original! I guess he’s good for something. But yeah. We got snacks and shit! Come on over!”

I pull the phone away from my ear, stare at the small blade between my fingers. Tears run down my cheeks and I start laughing. What the Hell is wrong with me? The girl in the mirror is smiling and crying all at once. She looks insane. But it’s better now. I feel a little bit of that release I was trying for.

The razor and its pink shell go into the trash. I wad up some toilet paper and throw it over the razor so my mom doesn’t see it. I press speed dial number three for Dizzie and grab a fresh towel for the shower. Maybe it’s just because I’m not lying on the floor anymore, but I feel a lot warmer now.


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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XVII

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