Her naked form rains drops of water on the carpet, like a murderer, or a victim leaving a trail of blood, as she walks from the bathroom to bedroom. She carries the towel in her left arm, like some accessory to her crime. The carpet quickly absorbs the clear drops, covering up the proof of her crime. In the shower, she had washed her body, scrubbing off dirt and skin alike, leaving a fresh layer of flesh. Now, in her bedroom she towels off, pressing hard to make sure all the old skin is gone. Satisfied of her purity, she sits on the bed and removes four bottles of lotion from the nightstand. Her new skin must be properly cared for, or it will become ugly before it can be removed again. So she starts at the bottom. But before her feet can be salved, they must be cleansed again. Feet are always the most difficult to rid of dirt. She takes the towel and rubs the sole of her right foot, watching the skin peel away. It falls on the floor in a little pile of death. She does the same with her left foot, and it leaves a matching pile of skin next to the first. Now they are ready. She pours lotion, lightly tinted with green, into her hand, and slowly works it into her foot. Her skin soaks it in, healing itself. She rubs hard, and her muscles slowly relax. She takes great care to nourish every cell. Each toe, each cuticle, gets rubbed. When the lotion is gone and her foot glistens, she stops and does the same thing with her other foot. When she�s done, the green bottle gets placed back in the drawer. She is sitting fully on the bed now, and she picks up a white bottle. This is for her legs. Having just been threatened with a knife, they gave up their hair, and are now smooth. She delights in the feel of this smoothness as she runs her hands up and down her calves, one at a time. After right and left calf, she gets more lotion and concentrates on her knees. These are a constant source of trouble. She cannot scrub the skin away, yet it never gets soft. She spends twice as much time here as anywhere else on her body, cursing her coarse skin and its unyielding nature. Again, she takes more lotion, rubbing her thighs in the same manner as her calves. More lotion again, for her stomach, breasts, and back. Finally, the white lotion goes away and she picks up a small purple bottle. When she opens it, the scent of lilacs fills the room. She inhales deeply as she rubs it into her arms. This scent covers up all other smells, leaving only clean freshness behind. She works at her elbows like her knees, for they too are a trouble spot. She puts the purple bottle away, and picks up the last one, a pink bottle. She rubs it on her face and neck, until it is completely absorbed. She waits a moment, and does it again. Another moment, and one more time. She smiles, her face is soft. Her body is clean. She smells good. She climbs under the sheets, naked, delighting in the feeling of clean sheets against clean skin. She goes to sleep, trying desperately not to think that by tomorrow she will be dirty again.
neb 4/5/04
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