As soon as my neighbor — whose name is Todd, by the way — helps me put my bed together, I practically push him out of the front door.
“You sure you don’t need any more help?” Todd asks.
“Nope. Thanks, though.”
“Okay, well, if you need anything…” he says, waving from the front porch.
“I won’t,” I mutter under my breath. I find the box with some of the cleaning stuff I stole from my last apartment and run up the stairs. I poked around in the upstairs rooms while Todd was here — so I didn’t chicken out — looking for the bathroom. It’s not a full-on horror show — I’ve definitely showered in worse bathroom situations — but it is gross. So once I have some bleach in hand, I do just like my mama taught me. I open the window and cover the tub, toilet, and sink in a hot water and bleach solution. I spray the window and cracked mirror above the small pedestal sink with bleach and Windex and let everything sit while I take a few suitcases of my clothes to my bedroom. I even make my bed. Well, I throw some sheets on the mattress, and since it’s too damn hot for a blanket, that’s as made as this bed is going to get.
When I get back to the bathroom, I spray everything with more water and bleach until I feel like I’ve burned all the hair from my nostrils, and then I scrub for all I’m worth. I scrub every surface until my arms and back ache, and I’m sweating. Or I’m crying. Or my eyes are watering from the probably deadly fumes. I scrub away the grime that has been here who knows how long and then rinse it down the drains with scalding hot water. I scrub every inch of the toilet before getting down on my knees to scrub the floor.
And then I mop it all up. When I step back to look at all that I’ve done, I think Sophie would be proud. My mom would probably say that it doesn’t look that much better, and I agree. I stash all the cleaning products in an empty closet next to the bathroom and then run back downstairs to rummage through a half-closed box of shoes until I find a pair of flip-flops and my bag of my toiletries.
I still don’t want to touch anything in the bathroom, but the smell of bleach is comforting. It reminds me of home. Of Sophie’s house. When I would visit on Sunday afternoons, my eyes used to water from the smell of bleach that she would slowly dissipate with the smell of her cooking.
“Sundays is for church and cleaning. Nothing more, nothing less, young man,” she used to say while handing me a rag and a can of Pledge.
I turn on the shower and undress. I slip the flip-flops onto my feet and climb into the tub.
“Fuck,” I scream and hop back out. I slip on the tile and have to grab onto the shower curtain rod to stop from falling and smacking my head onto the toilet. No one is more shocked that the curtain rod holds under my weight than me.
I get that feeling that someone’s watching me, butt ass naked, hanging from the curtain rod, but that’s probably just the embarrassment. I focus all my attention on the shower knobs. I keep turning and turning, left then right and back again, trying to find a water temperature that isn’t burn-my-skin-off hot or popsicle cold, and I can’t.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss. “Come. The. Fuck. On.” Cursing doesn’t work if you’re wondering. Neither does letting the water run and run. All that happens is that the pipes start to make some menacing, groaning sound that terrifies me so bad that I just turn the knobs to ice cold and jump in the shower with a washcloth and a bottle of body wash.
Worst. Shower. Of. My. Life.
RUBY
I shouldn’t be watching.
It’s rude.
My mama raised me better than that.
But my mama’s been gone a long time, God rest her soul, and it’s been a long time since anyone worth looking at came in this house and got naked.
Hell, even when people used to be naked in here all day, every day, I don’t think anyone ever looked as good as this one.
Damn shame, he’s a Delisle.
I tilt my head to the side.
I’m still gonna look, but it sure is a shame.
NOEL
As hot and humid as this house was when I strolled into town a few hours ago, I’m so cold after my shower that I’m shivering as I walk down the hall to my bedroom in wet sandals.
Naked.
I forgot to grab a towel from downstairs.
I brace myself for that chill as I cross over the threshold of my room, but it doesn’t come. I miss it, and I feel weird about that. I rummage through a suitcase to find a towel but settle on a clean t-shirt before slipping on some basketball shorts and another t-shirt. I find a pair of socks and slip out of my sandals and jump onto the wet shirt on the floor to dry my feet. I know I should put some lotion on, but I’m too cold. I’ll deal with my ashy ass in the morning.
All I want to do right now is jump into bed and go to sleep, and that’s exactly what I do.
Day one of being a homeowner has been…a mess.
I guess I’ll try again tomorrow.