A Bathtub Hug

(Written a year ago, for a writing class. A true, everyday story for you).

I sink into the hot bath after a long day. My body tingles and I wonder if I can take the heat, as I always do at the beginning of every bath. Tonight I know I can take the heat, and that it’s all I want. Its been a long day, and the reoccurring thoughts that have shaped my week have been in the back room of my mind, festering and undulating, Waiting to return to my consciousness, like a schoolchild waving their hands in the air, begging to be called upon.

 I wish I could get a lobotomy.

I sink into the tub, and turn off the scalding water with my foot. My hand rubs over the bottom of the tub where the porcelain is chipping, reminding me that I am not in a place in life where I have a beautiful, refinished tub. I look around at the tile and see that I need to deep clean the grout, again. – Dark spots of mildew here and there. I wonder if that’s when he decided he didn’t like me – when he saw my dirty tub.

My dog comes into the bathroom, and sticks her snout over the edge, wanting some attention but hating the water. She parks herself in front of the tub, facing the door. She’s staking her claim – I am hers to hang with as soon as I’m out of the water. I wonder why he couldn’t stake his claim. Why he no longer wanted to have me to hang with.

The water got cold, so I drain it and begin refilling it again – scalding once more. The vision of him hanging out with his fiancé, the one who posts love notes every day on his Facebook wall, makes me burn. It’s not the water this time – it’s my heart. I wonder if he envisions me at times, since it WAS me, less than a month ago. LESS THAN A MONTH AGO. But my bitter heart doubts I cross his (occupied, thoughtless, selfish, lying, darkened, judgmental) mind.

I drain and refill the tub once more. I’m aware this is not economical but all I really want is a deep embrace, a cuddle, the warmth of a presence and this seems to be the way to get it. I sit in silence, in my hot tub.