The Bathtub

I gingerly crouch on all fours. My right ear is barely an inch above the surface of the plastic floor of the bathtub in my apartment. There are little scratches and scuffling to be heard, muffled as through the hollowed walls between neighbors. If I listen closely, I could almost make out distinct voices: an old woman, a young boy, his mother, two men (bearded, I’m almost certain), and two young lovers.

Just as their words start to articulate through the diaphanous tub bottom, the lights flicker. They flicker again, and then I’m submerged in sub-darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the streetlights expand its faint glow through the high bathroom window. The voices went out with the lights. I climb out of the bathtub and into my bed, crawling underneath a thin pile of quilts.

Over a lukewarm cup of Earl Grey the next morning, I relay the story to my younger sister Marly. She’s twenty two, but has the sensibility of a sixty year old bus driver.

“I know what I heard.” I sigh, swirling another sugar cube into the teacup.

"You may have heard what you heard, but it doesn’t mean it is what you think it is,” Marly asserts and, with a tilt, finishes her mug of tea. “Thanks for the breakfast, Ariel, I’ve got to run. Maybe you should start looking for a job instead of laying on the floor of your bathtub.”

She stands up, zipping up her navy down jacket with her name and title embroidered in gold across the left breast. Marly Blunt, Cheer Coach.

“It’s a weekend.” I mutter as she gathers her things and heads towards the door.

As Marly leaves, I spy my next door neighbor fumbling with his keys across the hall. I run up to the door, take a breath, and slowly pull the door back, peeking out. Still fumbling.

“Hey Blake,” I cough. He jumps and looks up, brushing a strand of brown hair out of his glasses. Blake looks like Clark Kent, with highlights.

“Oh hey, Ariel, how are you?” He turns back to his keys, finally selecting the right one to unlock the door.

“I’m fine, listen -- ” I start.

“What time did your electricity come back?” Blake interrupts, stepping into his apartment and turning around to face me in the doorframe.

“What? Oh last night? I’m not sure, I went to bed when it went out and woke up some time around seven this morning and my clock was blinking at me…”

“Oh good, I went over to Sandy’s place last night – there was some flickering there but the electricity stayed on all night.” He turns to close the door.

“Wait --” I shout abruptly, stepping out of my doorframe. Blake looks up at me inquisitively, door half shut. “Did you happen – this is a weird question – but did you happen to take a shower last night?”

He raises one eyebrow wearily, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, were you in your bathroom or anything at all last night?” I quickly follow up.

Blake shakes his head. “No, we went out to dinner and a movie with some friends last night, and when we came home and saw the lights were out, we headed over to her place.”

“Oh,” I murmur softly, lowering my eyes to the ground and my mind whirring. “Thanks.” I step back into the house and close the door behind me, leaning back and burying my face in my hands.

“Oh.” I slide down onto the hardwood floor and stare at the small tumbleweeds of hair and dust curled up in corners against the legs of my grandmother’s couch.

(616 words)