its just between U & I (2)

2

The whole place was wet and stinking.
He tried to slam the door, but to his irritation it didn’t close. It sprung back onto his face. He had to close it with lot of difficulty.


He hates wet bathrooms.
Especially, he hates when the commode in his home is all wet, from the water of the one who had just taken bath. Its so irritating to sit on watery pad and get all ass-wet.

The mirror in the loo was rusted with age and begging to disagree, with what you see in it. He could see his bloodshot eyes, his lips, a little puffed and pink.

She just used to go mad over his lips. Every time we kissed, she used to hold them between her teeth, sway her face, with a giggle and he had to embarrassingly follow her play, not to end up with bloody bruised lips.

Someone was knocking on the door. He dint bother to even acknowledge.
His nose. His nose was always up for dispute. He had a blunt nose. Not a bulbous one. But a little stocky. That was the only thing open for circus.
She used to mocking call him piggy and giggle her heart out, seeing him squirm.
He would twist her arm, till she pleaded him free, with a couple of wet kisses on the nose.

The knocking on the door persisted. He looked at the door in ire.
There were lot of graffiti on the back of the door. There were desperate pleas for a fuck with corresponding numbers of contact. There were proclaimations of eternal love with the names embossed in the reeling paint. There were explicitly detailed figures of human reproductive organs, with complete annotations what they are and what would they do.

Knock. knock.

He unbuckled his jeans, slid them till the thighs, held his Tee in between his teeth and opened the door.

The middle-aged woman standing there was about to knock again, stood puzzled, as she couldn’t connect to the door.
Standing before her, is some guy in undies, with his Tee in his mouth.

He asked muffled, “ Can’t you wait? Even I cant. If you have no issues… c’mon. We can share the space.”

She looked at the guy in undies, from his face to the legs with a couple of brief sojourns in between. She was at total lack of words with what was happening to her.
Even before, she could say something, the door of the opposite bathroom opened and an elderly gentleman came out wiping his wet hands to his pants.

Now, there was a Mexican standoff in slow motion.

The gentleman looked at the guy in the loo, standing in his undies and the lady in the passage questioningly. The lady looked at the wet-hands man and the guy in the undies disgustingly. The guy in the undies, in the loo, looked both at the gentleman and lady disinterestedly.

Then the scene slipped back into 24-frames/sec mode, where things happen in normal pace.
The lady ran into the opposite loo and closed the door behind her, a little loudly in haste. The gentleman, walked into the compartment, smirking and still wiping those wet hands to the stained pants.

He is still in his undies, looking at the proceedings, through the open door.
The lady opened the door of the loo, as suddenly and immediately, as she closed it, with a cloth covering her nose to block the stench. She was looking very unpleasant and stuck.
She saw the undies guy still open right in front of her and slammed the door back to closure.

He could hear a loud vomit from the insides of the loo, with the woman in it.

He closed the door and got back to checking his face in the mirror.
He felt dizzy and held the sink, to stabilize. He got someone’s spit onto his palm.
He looked at his hands with disgust and hate.

He remembered, suddenly, he had once shoved her away in anger and she stumbled. He still remembered the look on her face when she looked at him in anger and humiliation, crying standing on the middle of the road.

He looked at the spit-covered hand. He deserved it. He closed the fist and felt the spit smear across the palm. He hated the whole feeling of it.

He loathed using his soap when someone else had used it in his bathroom. Now he had someone’s smuck smeared across his palm and he deserved it.

He closed his eyes to accept and understand what he is doing.

He has to live in present tense. He has to accept what he is.
He gave a long sigh that sent the mirror into steamy trance.
He signed the steamed mirror with her name and it blushed back to rustiness.

He has to live in current tense.
He looked at the name on the mirror. He opened the tap, washed the hands with soap to the point where the skin was bruised with cleanliness.
Then he took a handful of water and splashed it over the mirror.
This is probably one more feeble attempt to wash over the past and one more vain attempt to live in present.

He washed his face and wet his hair back to orderliness.

(contd..)