Flying Fish

I head to the bathroom for my morning rinse and find a stranger standing in the tub. He pulls me in, letting my towel drop on the floor. He puts one slimy finger over my lips to say he’s the boss and turns the water on Hot. His body is one, large block of soap and he’s butt-naked and he doesn’t hesitate rubbing my flesh like I’m a fish that needs scaling. I should scream, but his grip is tight and wise, his expressions molded with thought I know exactly where you need to shine. His face smells like sandalwood and lime. So even though it isn't natural, I surrender my body to his long, systematic scrubbing. When he's finished I’m afraid to ask, What now? He steps out and buffs me dry. My skin seems to purr. Then he pats his feet on the bath mat and goes to stand in the empty space between the sink and toilet. My boyfriend will never allow this I think, eyeing the layers of orange muscle on his torso. He’s heavy and slippery, but I carry him to the closet and store him behind a wall of boxes. I’ll be back, I assure him. Then for several weeks our cleaning ritual continues after my boyfriend leaves for work. I start to confess the little things, the words slide right out of my mouth as if he can actually reach in and wash the creases of my brain. He raises my arm and moves over my skin in mini hurricane circles with his fingertips. I’ve learned to control my laughter, but sometimes I squirm or suddenly cry out and his cheeks blush a translucent white. Gradually he begins to shrink, his shoulders slowly rounding and smoothing out, his arms and legs losing their shape until it looks like he's balancing on chopsticks. I try to take shorter showers, but he insists, until finally he is the size of a carrot peel. His features have been washed, but his foggy eyes still stare up at me in a pleasant, OK, now you know what to do, look. I spend the entire day in the shower, lathered up to my chin. Then the water loosens him from the cracks of my fingers and he spirals towards the silver drain. I wave Goodbye. His figure folds upward gently at the drains opening and he vanishes swiftly like a favored jewel or a brass pendant of eagle’s wings.