Man in Shower
Washing my hair to get the day’s grit and grime out of it. The sweat of the journey, and the frustration of all my days of work gone with the foam.
I can feel the tension releasing as the hot water streams over my body. Is there such a thing as too many suds? Can I stand under the water, till the heater runs out?
Am I losing my hair? I can see the clog in the drain. I had to kick it out of the drain, so my feet weren’t covered by water.
My hands and feet are wrinkly, my skin is reddened. And I can barely stand anymore. So down I sat on the floor of the tub. And kept the water running.
I know it’s not the water than I need, because I’ve never been that dirty. It’s not like I’m in sewage of any kind. It’s the release of the emotion. If I were a woman, maybe I could have a good cry?
There’s no one watching. no one would know. Can I try it this once?
It’s hard to get that first tear out. I feel guilty, like I’m letting the side down. But once done, there is just no stopping them. And I wonder if I’ll find the valve so I can turn this off again. Before someone sees, before someone knows.
I make sure to get some shampoo in my eyes, so I can honestly explain my red and puffy eyes. And as the water cools, I finally turn the taps off and dry myself.
I end up sitting on the toilet for awhile, and then make an effort to get dressed. It’s time. I have to face the world now. And no one must know that I’m having one hell of a bad day.
The shower is over, I am dry, and dressed. and finally I have exited the room. Stiff upper lip and all. The mess is tucked inside again.
mspeachierocks 