She darts to the bathroom
knocking everything down in her way. By everything it’s meant – she knocks down
pictures, guests that happen to stop by for her good friend for a brief moment and
anything that can’t withstand the inertia of high velocity wind or the trembling
and rumbling effect of a heavy foot. The bathroom is right around the corner from
the room that she is in and she leaps into it like the ground she is dashing on
is covered with lava, “FINALLY, the bathroom!” She gets to the bathroom, annoyingly
flips the light switch on, unapologetically swings the door wide open, and leaves
it open - no time to close it. She violently tosses the magazine full of cannabis that is lying on
top of the toilet seat cover on the floor, rushes to get her belt off, and panics
to get her pants down. Her right hand is in charge of making sure she gets her
pants all the way down while her left hand cares more about making sure the toilet
seat cover is up. Her whole body is aching and squirming at this point. There
is even a little bit of urine starting to slowly streamline down her thigh like a
tear you finally have to let go after fighting it back for so long. She
hesitates no longer, swivels around, deeply exhales, and plops down on the
toilet – using time and space breaking speeds. She lets out a long
and alleviating sigh and the tension in her shoulders abates. Her entire body
relaxes – from her posture to her toes; she slumps over in satisfaction, “Ahhhhhhhhh,
yeeesss.”
She finishes pissing and looks
around for some toilet paper. She looks and looks and looks…and looks, “Wow, there's no toilet paper, again." She smacks her lips with disgust and tries to find the next
best thing to use. Her eyes scour the bathroom for something, anything. She
comes across the trash can. She looks in the trash, inhales, and sinks into
what almost feels like defeat, “this can’t be my last option, please, no.” She
takes a beat and then grabs what looks like tissue that someone definitely tried
to get every last bit of their nose on. She looks at herself in the mirror,
scrunches her nose grotesquely, chuckles at her life in the moment, and
proceeds. She stares at the piece of tissue, shakes her head very slowly,
closes her eyes in shame, and wipes herself with this thing she found out of
the trash. Too proud to drip dry – she’d rather trash dig. She sticks her tongue
out, cringes, gets dry, throws it back in the trash, flushes the toilet, and
washes her hands. While washing her hands she glances at herself one more time
in the mirror, feeling somewhat proud because it's over and she made a way for herself, but weird because that just happened, and thinks, “They’re going to know I couldn’t have wiped myself. They’re
going to wonder how I did or if I did. They’re going to know and wonder because
they never have tissue here.”
And it repeats.