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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... cc&d magazine (v212) (the September 2010 Issue) |
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Leavings
Michael Hoag
The one stopped the other leaving the bathroom.
“What did you settle on while you were gone?”
The one waited and the other stood and decided to go and say it.
“I think I need to go.”
“What does go mean?”
The one sat in the armchair and the other fingered the bolt attached to the white handle of the cold water faucet.
“It means I need to leave.”
The one held still and the other twisted the bolt by the head.
“Are you moving away?”
“I think yes.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“For a day?”
“I think more.”
The bolt on the faucet turned in, seated and turned out.
“Are you leaving?”
The bolt released from the tap. The other carefully realigned the threads, twisted, reset and nodded.
“Do you still love me?”
The one sat fixed and the other stopped turning the bolt and began fingering its small flat head.
“I think you are amazing.”
“I know I am amazing but do you love me?”
The other ran a fingernail up and down the bolt slot and nodded.
“Do you have another?”
“No.”
“Are you depressed?”
“No.”
“I think you are depressed.”
“I’m not depressed.”
“Are you tired of the house?”
“I guess.”
“Do you hate my family?”
“No.”
“Do you still love me?”
“I believe.”
“Do you love me less?”
“I don’t know Mary.”
The one sat silently waiting.
“What should I tell your child?”
The one sat and the other turned away from the faucet. The drywall was up and painted. The trim was in place and the fixtures set. Across from the sink was the ebonized rosewood and ormolu Sheraton. To the right was the new toilet and to the left in the corner was the Bergre. The contractor initially refused to allow for a bathroom Bergre but the two persisted and the contractor finally relented and agreed to design a room large enough to hold three standard bathroom fixtures and a Bergre. Everything looked beautiful but nothing worked because the money ran out before the final plumbing was set. The two called the room their faux bathroom since none of the fixtures ran, nothing was ever used and nothing ever needed cleaning.
“What should I tell your child?”
“I don’t know Mary.”
“Do you want me to wait?”
“Yes wait.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Will you call?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to stay the night until you find a place?”
“No.”
“Do you have a place?”
“I think I do.”
“Where?”
“Away.”
“I know you will be away but where will you be?”
“By work.”
“Can you tell me the address?”
“I don’t know Mary.”
“Why won’t you tell me your address?”
“Because...you might come by.”
The other turned farther away.
“I think I will leave now.”
“Will you come back tonight?”
“No.”
“Will you come back tonight to get your stuff?”
“Yes.”
“And then leave?”
“Yes.”
“Leave for your new place by work?”
The one sat in the Bergre in the corner and the other stood in front of the pedestal cast iron sink. The beveled mirror on the wall was set in an oak frame. The toilet was factory stock. The one wanted a factory toilet and since the other had no time to repair and install an antique they bought new. The two found the roll top bathtub at a salvage yard and had it refinished. It sat at the far end without plumbing.
“Leave me?”
The two bought a gouache on Rives three hundred weight lignin free paper with deckled edges. The gum Arabic based binder put off a slight blackberry honey scent.
“Are you leaving me?”
The two pulled up a hardwood floor from another house and hauled, cleaned, sanded, nailed and varnished one hundred and fifty square feet to finish the new bathroom. They decided many years ago to tint the flooring and trim of the house osage orange, which was not a hard orange but was still orange enough to draw criticism.
“Leaving now?”
The two attached three mop handles end to end to clean out a Sparrow nest from the bathroom fan vent.
“Leaving?”
And installed porcelain chicken hooks for pajamas and robes.
“Now?”
And baseball mitts on the wall for the smell.
And a coffeemaker because coffee belongs in a bathroom.
And photographs of state fair prize pullets.
And a plastic Buddha bought in Thailand.
And a shallow relief carved in the plaster drywall of the Virgin Mary painted in vivid purples, oranges and pinks.
And cut dill, clover and Golden Jerusalems.
And scented dried apples and strawberries.
And cut red peppers in mustard sauce.
And a hundred pound wedge of copper.
And three sets of curly telephone cords hanging like bunting.
And knitted newspaper doilies.
And plaster casts of envelopes and milk cartons.
And a bad unpublished translation of Lorca.
And jade air vents.
And bone folders and scorers.
And binder’s needles.
And stumps and tortillons.
And pictures and thoughts.
And questions asked and questions answered.
And murmurs and mumblings in the night.
And light in the air and dark underground.
And running and walking.
And green sky and blue earth.
And nothing here and nothing there.
And which and that and when and those.
And wanting and wishing and praying and squandering.
And seeing and seeing and seeing and not ever seeing again.
