Sometimes Forgetting is the Best Way to Love

“My mother moves so fast I do not even see it coming. But she slaps my face hard enough to make my head snap backward. She leaves a print that stains me long after it’s faded. Just so you know: shame is five-fingered.”
-MY SISTER’S KEEPER

The cool water pounded down on my aching muscles like heavy hands on a drum. The water flowed in rivers down my body mixing with the sweat and dirt that had accumulated over the days; I had fallen asleep on my floor and woken early the next morning. Some places on my clothing were still damp from working out the day before and they smelt horrible and my skin had a heavy odor of sweat and heat clinging to it as well. A shower was definitely needed.

I felt liking curling up on the floor of the shower and letting the water wash everything away; the grime, sweat, and the thick feeling of guilt that clung to me like an extra layer of skin. I rubbed at my face with my fingers trying to get the feeling of tears off my cheeks as I leaned back and let the water beat down on my chest, after a moment the consistent beat felt in tune with my own heart and for some reason that calmed me.

I scrubbed my body, careful of the tender skin from my fall, until it felt like all of yesterdays skin was gone. I took my time shaving and washing my hair, loving the feeling of my fingers massaging my scalp. I felt more at peace in this confined area surrounded by steam and the noise of the water; I felt safe but when I turned off the water a little bit of that feeling spiraled down the drain with all the bubbles and dirt. Then that feeling of emptiness came back.