Chapter 14: Saturday Morning Bath

I was feeling strange.

I was hiding in the bathroom with my back against the door. My knees were trembling and my throat was dry and my insides were all tied up in knots.

All these weird emotions were running around inside of me – all mixed up and confused. I wanted to be with people but I wanted to hide away from everybody. I wanted to have a bath and get clean but I didn’t want to take my clothes off. I wanted to ask Mum why she had gotten upset about me doing a drawing in her style but I didn’t want to talk to her. I wanted to make peace with Tara but I didn’t want to have anything to do with her. There were things I wanted that I couldn’t name. Things I wanted to stop that I couldn’t identify. All this stuff was swirling around inside me with no reason and no rhyme.

I truly didn’t understand why I was feeling so weird. I still don’t. I had been so calm and relaxed earlier. It was so lovely sitting with Angie on the couch. I was talking normally with Tara and then suddenly I was all tensed up and freaky. I kept feeling like something bad was about to happen but it never did. Why was I feeling so weird?

I was starting to think that the only thing wrong was in my head.

The monster was in my head and I was trapped in there with it.

There was no weapon I could hold onto that would protect me from that.

I turned and looked at the bath. That’s what I needed. A nice quiet soak in hot water would do me the world of good.

I stacked my clean clothes on the counter and ran the bath. I added a few squirts of bubble-bath and hung up the robe. I was undoing the buttons of my pyjama top when there was a quiet knocking on the door.

“S’me! Let me in.”

I sighed. I’d forgotten that Tara had asked to use the bathroom.

I clutched the edges of my top together and went to undo the lock. As soon as the lock clicked, Tara opened the door and hugged me – pushing the door closed behind her with her foot.

“Oh My God! That was so hysterical. You should have seen Mum’s face. I don’t think she knew whether to laugh or cry.”

Tara’s entrance hit me like a 18-wheeler zooming down the interstate at seventy-five miles an hour. I ended up smeared across the grill with no chance of dodging. Then the truck was gone – leaving me gasping for breath and fighting to stay on my feet.

I had so much wanted to have some quiet time and here she was being all energetic and overpowering.

Tara was still holding me and talking about Mum. That put her face right in front of my eyes. The bruise on the side of her face accused me. It glared at me – pointed at me – pinned me in place.

I had hit my sister!

Suddenly, I felt a surge of anger overwhelm everything else. It came out of nowhere. I wanted to hit her again. I don’t know why but I wanted to hit her harder. I wanted to hit her over and over. I could feel all my muscles tensing, getting ready to swing. I wanted her to hurt. I wanted her to feel pain. Maybe it was because she was being so chirpy and it offended me – I don’t know.

This was wrong. I knew it was wrong. I had to stop myself from hitting her.

I locked myself in place. I froze my arms against my body. Turning into a statue seemed like a good plan. Statues generally don’t hit people.

I knew the urge to hit my sister was wrong. I knew it was irrational. It was bad that I hit my sister once. It would be even worse to hit her again.

I hit my sister. I hurt my parents. Sometimes I’m not a very nice person.

Tara let go of me and went over to sit on the toilet. I turned away. I stood beside the bath, watching as it filled. I was aware out of the corner of my eye that she was finding everything awkward because of her bandaged hand. I didn’t offer to help. It was awkward for her but she was coping. I left her alone and turned my back on her.

I felt like one of those old-fashioned records with a scratch – going around and around and feeling the same things over and over.

Tara kept talking. I can’t remember a word she said. Then she stopped the flow of chatter and asked a question.

“Why aren’t you getting in the bath?”

I flapped my arms in reply. I guess my arm flapping was code. I don’t know what it was code for. I was stuck – unable to go forward – unable to go back. I stopped flapping and used both hands to clutch my top closed again.

She flushed the toilet and washed her hands – well, she washed her one hand, anyway. She draped her towel over one shoulder so she could dry the hand. Then she came over and stood next to me looking down at the bath. It was full enough so she leaned over and turned off the faucet. She swirled her good hand through the water to check the temperature. She dried her hand again. Then she took me by the elbows and turned me until we were facing each other. One good hand held me firmly. The bandage-wrapped hand rested against my elbow and seemed to have just as much power to hold and move me.

I found myself staring straight at that bruise. It had taken over her entire face. All I could see was one gigantic bruise sitting on a pair of shoulders and framed by flowing locks of brown hair.

“Hey! I really am sorry about the other night. You get that, don’t you?”

I wondered if she knew that I was sorry too. I really wished I hadn’t hit her. But you can’t undo things. Once they’re done, it’s like they’re fixed in concrete – unchangeable, permanent. They get written into the history books and that’s the end of it.

“Are we okay? You and me – are we good?” asked Tara.

I shrugged. That was a complicated question.

I watched as Tara’s eyes glistened. She flung herself at me and hugged me hard. My hands were trapped against my chest. I stood there and let her hug me – the side of my head bumping against hers. My hands, trapped between our chests, could feel both our hearts thumping away at different speeds. It made a weird sort of Calypso rhythm.

I figured Tara had taken my shrug as meaning something different from what I meant.

Tara pulled back and looked at me again.

“Now why are you being silly about getting undressed in front of me? I’ve seen you naked lots of times. We need to get you into the bath. You won’t get clean by standing here and staring at the water.”

Because I was stuck – that was the answer. I could do nothing but stand there. A prisoner in my motionless body. I had no choice but to watch Tara’s face – to hear her voice – and to feel the movement of her hands as she started to undress me.

Tara pushed my hands out of the way and pulled the edges of my top outwards until the last couple of buttons strained and then popped undone. She pushed it off my shoulders and tugged until it slid down my arms and dropped to the floor. She grabbed the hem of my vest and pulled up. My arms lifted and allowed her to peel the vest off me. It joined my pyjama top on the floor. Then she grasped the elastic waistband of my pyjama bottoms above one hip and used her bandaged hand on the other hip to help push them down over my hips and thighs. She got the waistband down to about knee height and let go. They fell to the floor in a pile around my feet. Then she did the same with my panties.

My leg lifted when she told me to lift. She led me by the wrist over to the bath. My legs stepped into the bath when she told me to step. A light pressure on my shoulders was enough to make my body lower itself into the water.

The hot water wrapped itself around me and drew me in with its silky arms. The heat soaked in through my skin and started to draw a chill from my bones that I hadn’t known was there.

I watched the layer of bubbles shift as the water swirled underneath. Then my eyes closed and I sank down until my head was under the water. I wanted to curl into a little ball and stay there forever.

A hand reached down and hooked under my neck. It tugged gently upwards and my body dutifully lifted up until I was sitting. Tara prodded me until I leaned forward and she gently washed my back with a bath sponge. My eyes stayed closed. The sensation of being washed soothed me but I felt so dirty – so unclean. She should have been using a scrubbing brush, not a sponge.

Tara put the sponge down and reached into the water to lift one of my arms up. She rested it on her shoulder and then used the sponge to wash my arm. She was doing it all with one hand, and doing it pretty well now that I think about it. She washed my other arm the same way and then worked around my neck and down my chest and stomach.

Tara put the sponge down and picked up the bottle of shampoo that we both use. She managed to pop the top and squirt some onto my head. Then she put the bottle down and started massaging the shampoo into my hair with her good hand.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried shampooing long hair with one hand. It’s kind of hard to do. The hair just doesn’t cooperate. It flops and slides and wriggles out of reach. Tara very quickly got frustrated – really, really frustrated.

I could have helped her. I could have reached up and washed my own hair. I could have used both my hands. I would have preferred to do it myself. I would have preferred for her to go away and leave me alone. I should have told her to leave. But I didn’t. All I did was sit and let her struggle. All I did was let that bruise-covered face get screwed up in frustration. I should have helped her.

But I didn’t. All I did was sit.

In the end, Tara swore. She picked up the sponge and threw it across the bathroom. It slapped wetly onto the mirror and slid down to the sink – leaving a soapy smear down the glass.

She slumped down until she was sitting on the floor and started crying.

I sat in the bath with my eyes still closed and listened to her sniffle. I could feel streaks of shampoo slide down my face – over my eyelids and down my cheeks before dripping off my chin.

Without any conscious decision from me, my knees lifted up and pulled into my chest and my arms wrapped around my legs. I rested my chin on my knees and rocked gently back and forth. Little waves started up and slapped against my skin. It wasn’t deliberate but I was gradually sliding back into the depths of my skull. I guess you’ve probably figured that out by now without me telling you.

Some time later, I felt the water slosh and the water level raise up. A moment later, I felt water spraying down to rinse my hair. Then I felt a wash cloth wipe the last drips of shampoo away from my face. The wash cloth gently cleaned around my eyes and then went away.

My eyes flickered and blinked open. I found myself looking out through my two eyes like they were portholes in my skull. I felt disconnected – watching from a great distance and peering through those two small circles way out there in front of me.

I could see Tara sitting at the other end of the bath. She had thrown her clothes into a pile and climbed in with me. There was plenty of room for her since I was occupying such a small space with my legs drawn up against my chest.

Tara’s mouth was moving as if she were talking but I couldn’t hear any words.

Tara’s face was splotchy from crying. As I watched, she wiped it with the wash cloth. I think she winced when she ran the cloth over her bruised eye.

Her bandaged hand rested on the edge on the bath. My eyes focused on it, tracing the lines formed by layers of bandage wrapped around and around. Tara was still talking but I have no idea what she was saying. I wasn’t even looking at her face anymore.

I wondered if she should have gotten into the bath with me. I had been fairly grotty when I got in so the bath water would be pretty polluted by now.

I watched as Tara hung the wash cloth on the little rack and picked up the sponge – which she must have retrieved from the far side of the room. She reached forward and ran it down the front of my shins. I think she wanted to wash my legs properly but they were tucked up against my front. My arms were not letting them go.

I think Tara might have talked some more – trying to encourage me to stretch out my legs so she could wash them. I didn’t understand her words. It wouldn’t have mattered if I did. My legs weren’t doing what they were told. They liked being tucked in tight against my body. They felt safer there.

There was a sudden loud knocking on the door. Dan’s voice called out. Something about hurrying up because he needed to pee. Tara turned towards the door and yelled for him to come in. I heard that much – it was like the voices were coming from the other end of a long tunnel.

My whole body tried to shrink in on itself. I was naked! I was sitting in the bath! And Tara cheerfully invited Dan in as if we were sitting at the kitchen table and playing cards.

I heard Dan open the door and come in. I don’t know how he reacted to seeing the two of us sitting in the bath. I was watching Tara, she was watching Dan.

A part of my brain knew that Dan had helped bathe me last night. It knew that Dan had seen me much more naked than I was at that moment. I was sitting all curled up in the bath with a layer of bubbles over the top. About all he could see was the back of my head and the top of my shoulders.

But I guess it was instinct or something. There was a guy in the bathroom and I was naked so I curled up more tightly. But the guy was Dan who I trust more than anybody so I didn’t panic or scream or anything. I simply sat – all curled up – and watched Tara. And Tara watched Dan.

Behind me I heard the clunk of the toilet seat being put up out of the way. Then I heard the sound of a stream of pee hitting the water in the bowl. This was no gentle trickle – it was a thundering torrent. I heard Dan heave a sigh of relief behind me. I curled up even more tightly – if that was possible.

The torrent of pee went on and on.

I watched as Tara’s eyes slowly went wide as she realized what an impressive quantity of pee was thundering out of Dan. The stream seemed to go on forever. Tara’s amazement turned to amusement. She held a wet hand in front of her mouth and giggled and giggled and giggled.

When he finally stopped peeing and flushed the toilet, Tara stopped giggling long enough to call out to Dan.

“Sheesh! You must have a bladder the size of a football.”

I heard Dan chuckle. The sound of splashing water told me he was washing his hands.

“It sure felt like that. Sorry to interrupt you. I didn’t realize the two of you were having a bath.”

Tara shrugged. Then she looked back and forth between Dan and me and bit her lip.

“Dan? Would you help me wash Bec’s hair? I couldn’t do it properly with only one hand.”

“Why doesn’t Bec ... Oh!”

I was still watching Tara’s face – watching the expressions and moods wash across her bruised and battered face. I could trace where Dan was in the room by the direction of her eyes. Her eyes were reminding me that Tara adores Dan as much as I do.

“What happened to set her off?” asked Dan.

Tara shrugged.

“I don’t know. She was fine before – talking and laughing. But now she’s sitting there like a statue. I don’t know why.”

I watched as Tara’s eyes told me that Dan was walking over to us and sitting on the edge of the bath.

“What happened to your face, Tara?” asked Dan.

She shrugged.

“I ran into a wall.”

Dan snorted.

“Funny shaped wall!”

A finger tucked under my chin and turned my head until Dan swung into view.

He stared deeply into my eyes – trying to see through to the real me.

“Bec? Did you hit your sister?”

I didn’t speak. I didn’t move. I stared back into his eyes – his very brown eyes. Dan seemed to accept that as an answer.

“Why?”

My eyes blinked. Dan seemed to stop and think.

“Don’t answer that!” he said.

I think he was being ironic.

Dan stared into my eyes for a moment longer and then he heaved a big sigh.

“Close your eyes, princess. I’m going to wash your hair.”

He leaned forward and kissed my nose. My eyes closed naturally as his face approached mine. He steered my head back so that I was facing forwards. My chin dropped back onto my knees.

Every girl should have a brother that calls her princess. It should be a rule.

I sat still and let Dan wash my hair. The feeling of Dan’s strong fingers massaging my scalp flowed through me. The tingling sensation started in my scalp and then spread down and throughout my entire body. It was the most awesome feeling. I kind of wish I’d been more with it so I could enjoy the whole thing properly. But I was getting there. Slowly, very slowly I was coming back to life. But then he finished and took his hands away. The good feelings faded again. He rinsed my hair with the shower nozzle and kissed my forehead.