The fragrant mist seeped into the pores of my body, soothing them with steamy warmth. Water trickled down, suspended in the air for mere moments, to crash into the ceramic tiles below. The ventilator had broken months ago; I tried to look past the glass pane, but it was much too opaque. All I could see was the bright blur of a fluorescent light.
I slid my right palm over the glass, temporarily sweeping away some moisture. Sometimes I would see the bathroom, completely empty, with the tap dripping into the lonely sink. Sometimes, I would see Laura’s back stooped over towards the frameless mirror, applying mascara or lipstick as she delicately painted her blank canvas.
But it was always just a glimpse.
The surrounding vapour would quickly deliquesce, and my peephole would blend back into the smeary glass. It was frustrating. I felt impaired.
I turned away and lifted the shampoo bottle. ‘Strange’, I thought. ‘Didn’t I open a new one just yesterday?’ It was half-empty already. The middle of the vessel dipped and curved as though it had been squeezed repeatedly for a month. After extracting a suitable dollop, I replaced the container – this time placing it upright and parallel to the conditioner and the body wash.
By the time I stepped out of the shower, Laura would not be there. She was never there. In the morning, she would already be on the way to work or dropping Michael off at school. At night, she would already have tucked herself into bed. Tonight was no different.
I reached for a towel, only to find a whole pile of them clumped together on the rack. The mess was less annoying than it should have been... Yes, a man should come home and – okay she does have a job – but it is her house as well. In the past month, she had begun neglecting the basics. Including cleaning up after her afternoon bathe. I rearranged them: first the body towels, then the foot mats, then the hand towels.
I dried myself and slipped on some pyjamas. Shuffling by in the hallway, a line of yellow light peeped from under Michael’s doorway. He was up again, likely engrossed in some fantasy about magic and prophecy and dreams. It’s always hell for Laura: waking him up – bleary-eyed and bemoaning his predicament – at six o’ clock. I smiled. After kissing Michael goodnight, I picked my way back to my bedroom and closed the door behind me.
There she was: a small lump in the bed covers with long brown locks overflowing onto the pillows.
‘Hey babe... How was your day?’
No response. She was tired. I could tell.
‘Good night, then.’ I slid in and felt her silky hair across my face. I gently ran my fingers through and held it to my cheek. There was a familiar scent: the shampoo. With a deep sigh, she tossed and turned until her entire body was out of reach, her back facing me. She reorganised her hair with a flick of the wrist. Evidently, she had used all that shampoo in one afternoon. I rolled into a similar position with my back facing hers. Although, it didn’t matter whether I was facing her. I could still feel her warmth. I could still hear her breathe. I could still smell her hair.
There was a soft but reverberating thud. My eyelids fluttered. Someone was crying. A painful edge creeped into the series of high-pitched whimpers. I woke. It was Michael. I threw off the covers and raced to his room.
Chaos.
The bed had splintered down the middle, causing the whole frame to collapse. The head of the frame should have been perpendicular to the mattress; instead, it lay flat on top of Michael’s arm. I lifted it off onto the floor, but soon regretted it – the broken arm was exposed. It wasn’t just dislocated at the shoulder; the elbow had also snapped into an unnatural angle. My stomach lurched and, involuntarily, I looked away. But I wrenched my gaze back and reached forward. ‘It’s okay buddy, you’ll be alright.’ I tried to comfort him, but it was a selfish gesture.
There’s no time for courtesies, I decided, hurrying back to the main room. I needed Laura’s help to get him into the car. She still hadn’t moved. She was curled up, the bed covers ajar where I had thrown them aside.
‘Honey, wake up! The bed’s collapsed and it fell on Michael. I think his arm’s broken. Help me lift him into the car.’
Not a sound.
‘Laura, can’t you hear him? Get up and help.’ Her eyes remained closed and, against any predilection to motherhood, she managed to maintain the same placid expression. Completely motionless. My hands trembled. Michael’s whimpers intensified.
‘Bloody hell woman, get up!’ I ripped off the covers and the sheets. They flew into the air in a cloud of dust. I wrenched away her pillow. I threw it aside.
I turned my head to glare at her. But she wasn’t there.
Perhaps I should have smashed that glass pane. I always knew there was nothing on the other side. Not a tap. Not a sink. Not even a light.
My face softened. And then it paled. I sighed and sank deep into the mattress, holding the crumpled sheets to my face.
“Laura.”
But they were cold. And I could smell nothing.
Thus I have had thee, as a dream doth flatter –
In sleep a king; but waking, no such matter.
