There’s nothing wrong with the shows I watch. Like she’s any judge of what’s acceptable with her Wheel of Fortune or Family Feud.
I sink deeper into the tub as her words bounce around in my head like pinballs. A cold drop of water hits my forehead and I look up to see my mother’s nylons hanging above me and I grimace, working for the enemy I see.
Shoving my hands under the warm bubbles, I search for my washcloth and place it over my eyes. The warmth melts the tension in my face and my shoulders relax. Sinking deeper into the water I rest my head on the back of the tub wondering, again, if there’s any truth to what she said.
How does liking shows on the BBC make me unattractive to men? Their shows are historical and educational. I’m always learning new and interesting things. Well, Downton Abbey may be more soap opera meets history... but I’ve learned some things... like where the servant’s rooms are located, and how dressed up you had to get for dinner.
It’s better than guessing letters to the sentence “April Showers Bring May Flowers” or listing the Top 10 things a man keeps in his dresser.
She’s just trying to get under my skin because I wouldn’t watch Wheel of Fortune with her one time. Like one night of not sitting next to her on the couch was going to kill her.
I’ve never seen the BBC version of Jane Eyre, and have been breathless in anticipation. But she’s ruined it for me. I pull the cold washcloth from my eyes, and sit up in the tub, as a small bubble floats up from the water. Watching it rise toward freedom, I stab it angrily with my finger and “poof” it’s gone. My shoulders sink, poor bubble.
Swirling my hands in the water. I try to stir up suds, then lift my hand out in an attempt to encourage another bubble upward, but nothing happens. So I sink back down in the water, as if a weight was pulling me from beneath. One deep breath and my head is now under the surface of the water. Bracing my hands on the sides of the tub, the way I’ve done since I was little, I fight to prevent my body from bobbing up - silence.
My heartbeat drums out in resistance as I fight for a few more seconds of breath, until the beating turns into pounding and I sit up fast. Startled and breathing heavily, I realize the pounding is coming from the bathroom door not my heart.
“Ruby, what the heck are you doing in there?” I jump to my feet in surprise, then grasp fro anything solid as I lose my balance and end up back in the water again.
“You know, other people have needs, this isn’t a spa you're living in.” heat rises in my cheeks as she continues her tirade, “Why don’t you think of someone else for a change Ruby?”
Racing to outpace her next outburst, I anchor my hands on each side of the tub and pull myself up with force causing ripples of water to run from my body and splash up the tub walls in a mini tsunami. I take a brief moment to steady myself, then maneuver from the tub, shouting back, “I’m coming. I’ll be right out... I’m sorry.. not.
Reaching for my robe, I scramble for the arm holes, then yank the terrycloth sides around my body trying to get ahead of her next tirade. Then I open the door, and step out of the small pool of water forming at my feet, and into the hall as drips of water create paths down my legs.
My mother is standing in the hallway with an intense glare. My eyes cast downward and my shoulders slump in an attempt to disappear into the wood floor. I ease past her and her heated energy hits me as I go causing me to flinch. “Mother, let me get changed and I’ll meet you downstairs for Wheel of Fortune”
“Don’t bother. I’m not interested.” Mother storms past me with her brow furrowed, enters her bedroom, and slams the door. I ease my own bedroom door open and slip into my room, shutting the door behind me. Then stand still in darkness, waiting for the creak of floorboards, to tell me she’s returned for more, as I realize she didn’t even end up using the bathroom.
Her voice breaks the silence bellowing from down the hallway, causing me to jump, “You know you got water all over the floor. Are you planning to pay for the floor to be refinished?” I hear her footsteps grow louder as she makes her way past my bedroom door toward the bathroom. Then the sound of the floorboards squeaking tells me she’s drying the floor. I debate going out to help, then hesitate when the hall becomes quiet again, punctuated by the slamming of her bedroom door in the distance.
I edge my way across the room without turning on the light using the darkness to further shroud my ability to be seen, by who I couldn't say. My shin connects with the metal bed frame painfully announcing my arrival at my bed. I reach forward and feel for the mattress, then lay down and curl up on my side bringing my pillow into a hug at my chest and lay there in silence.
It seemed like eons since I bounded home from work earlier tonight,with plans for popcorn and a memorable night of Jane Eyre. Who was I kidding with this idea. I close my eyes, willing the escape of sleep when a shiver runs down my body reminding me I’m still in my now cold and damp bathrobe. Unmotivated to move, I debate the possibility of falling asleep this way and pull the blanket higher. Another shiver runs down my spine in defiance telling me staying put isn’t happening and getting up is inevitable.
I sit up in bed staring into my darkened room waiting for my eyes to adjust, then find my footing and make my way across the room in the direction of the closet, for another blanket and my nightgown.
Once there, I get on my tiptoes and reach toward the back of the top shelf, searching for the blanket I know is there somewhere. A sliver of light streams in from the window offering enough brightness to make out shapes. Extending my arm further back, I grasp a blanket-like object and pull it toward me just as I start to lose my balance. Grabbing for anything solid to hang on to, my hands rake past various objects as I fall backward into the door and down to the floor, followed by a shower of things.
I hold my breath and freeze as I listen for stirring from down the hall, praying the sound didn’t make its way to my mother’s bedroom. The furnace kicks in and the fan begins to blow creating a synchronistic buffer blocking out any noise, thank you furnace. I wait a moment longer, then crawl across my bedroom floor to my lamp and pull the string to turn on the light and assess the damage.
A pile of random stuff is laying at the foot of my closet door. I get up and head over and begin grabbing items and shoving them back on the shelf. I’m half done when I notice a shoebox among the remaining clutter. I pick it up to add it to the rest of the stuff I crammed back up on the shelf, then stop, realizing I have no idea what this shoebox is doing on the shelf in the first place.
It’s probably been over a decade since I’ve purchased a new pair of shoes. Well, aside from the walking shoes I bought for work at Walmart, but those came on a hock, not in a shoebox.
No longer interested in sleep, I carry the shoebox over to my bed, sit down, and remove the cover. The box is filled with a pile of old papers of varying colors and shapes. Digging through, I make out an elementary school report card, some macrame bracelets made from twine, and a drawing of a house with an orange sun, rainbow, and trees with Ruby scrawled in the bottom right corner.
Then I notice a piece of paper folded into a nice square, with a heart drawn on the front, that’s been taped shut. I pull at the yellow tape, careful not to damage the contents, and unfold the paper. The heading reads, To Do List. The paper is dated in the upper right corner and quick math tells me I would have been around ten when I wrote it.
I begin to read the items on the list, pausing to smirk at the silliness of some of my choices, until I’ve made my way to the bottom of the paper. Then I glance up at the top again as something dawns on me. Dumbfounded, I read the list again, this time slowly to catch my mistake. Again, I reach the bottom, with nothing new discovered..
This can’t be possible. I flip the paper over, looking for more items, dig through the box to the bottom in search of... what... an addendum? But there’s nothing to help me out of what lies exposed before me.
I haven’t accomplished one thing on this list in 20 years. What have I been doing with my time? Tears began to well in my eyes as I stare down at the list in disbelief. I blink and a tear drops on the paper and I look away gazing across the room at my pale pink jewelry box perched on my dresser with the ballerina poised in the center waiting to periwette at the crank of the music box key.
My bottom lip begins to quiver and I swallow hard pushing down the pain rising up in my throat.
I grab the shoebox and push the list down into the box hard, then place the lid back on top, like I’m shutting a coffin, and drop the shoebox out of sight on the floor.
Reaching for the cord on my lamp, I pull hard causing it to swing back and forth hitting the sides over and over again, making a clanging noise with each contact. Then, I curl up in bed and pull the cold, damp covers up high and close my eyes, shutting out the list, Jane Eyre, 20 wasted years, and the unbearable hurt reaching toward me from a place deep inside me.
Comentários