Beads of Water

I set the temperature to 92F. Gingerly let a leg, then back, and then head, be drowned in the falling clear liquid. As the water beats down on my neck I close my eyes and let my hair slowly enclose around my face. Beads of water seep through the corners of my eyelids, my contacts slide out of place. My eyes remain shut; my mind wanders.

Opening them, I remember where I am. The bright fluorescent light overhead shines down on me. I stare at the tile's shape pattern, but I'm soon distracted. My feet look minuscule and I feel as if I'm fifteen feet tall, no longer my mere five foot nine inches. My eyes become even less focused, the tile and the nail polish on my toes blend together; a pattern now of colors. The water continues to beat forcefully onto my neck.

Suddenly insecure, my eyes refocus. The harmless shapes that were around me a moment ago are no longer innocent. I tuck my arms across my bare chest; hiding myself from the shampoo bottles that linger on the edges. The lufas glance peculiarly at me; their worn out meshes crying out for rejuvenation. Or some soap.

I stand there motionless. The only movement is the quickly cascading water. My mind wanders. How long have I been in here? Is anyone worried about me being in here for so long? Will they say something if I don't come out soon?

I drop my arms, look up to the light overhead and then slowly start to let myself fall forward. A very slow fall, but there is definitely gravitational pull. I rest my arms on the wall before me, catching myself before my knees buckle. The water plants itself on my lower back, my feet still in the same position. I look down, from here I look as if I'm only four feet tall. My legs are distorted and bent awkwardly, my various tan lines changing as they move up and down my leg; lighter to darker, darker to lighter.

I stand up straight, flinging my head back and letting the water roughly hit my face. I breathe through my nose only to be welcomed by water. Coughing, I attempt to breathe again and open my mouth. Spitting out water every couple of seconds, I am able to properly fill my lungs. I look straight ahead now, noticing a spider's web in the corner of the stall. The spider's missing. My mind wanders. Where's the spider? Did it drown? Was it that one I always used to squirt water on so it wouldn't crawl on me? I feel almost worried that the spider isn't in its home.

How long have I been in here? Will my mom come knocking on the door asking if I'm alright? Do they care that it's 12:45 at night and I'm showering? I always shower in the morning, somebody will mention something,… Right?

I lean against the wall of the shower. My elbows resting on my hips that are pushed out; the water siphons down from my navel to my legs and from there spreads apart to traverse each leg separately. I move to the other side of the shower and stand straight. I pull the shower curtain aside and glance at the mirror. The heat has fogged it over; all I can vaguely see is a black thickness surrounding a beige square shape. I close the curtain unsatisfied.