the shower…

even before you step inside the shower, before you turn on the water and wait for the hot water to cascade down from the rain shower, the stark and brilliant polished whiteness of the bathroom appears as a version of heaven. It’s warm tiled floor, its utilitarian brilliance recalls other equally nice bathrooms across the places you remember. Perhaps we would prefer to sit in the library down the corridor with its pale grey modernist shelving and its curved plywood chairs, the cushions in the window seat. But though the library offers you books, Hegel perhaps with coffee, the bathroom offers the perfect attractiveness of the perfect rain shower, the basin with the soap, razors and cremes which welcome you into the morning. In the corner of the bathroom is the white porcelain and metal bath, unused, a prison and occasionally a container for the fish. Do you remember as children getting the undivided attention of our parents as we played in the bath with them. Here we were most surveiled by our parents. Now though… In the near privacy of the shower water runs over your body like a proper seductive experience. The scented shower gel rubbed over your body with the pink exfoliating net. The existential pleasure of the microfibre cloth soaping you chest, breasts, genitals, legs, back. You are unable to see as the streams of water run over your short sighted eyes… Sometimes you remember being in the shower with another. The water lubricating wet skin. sighs. (That was then, now the the the hot water loosens the stiffness of age. ) Memories of bodies against white tiles, flesh compressed against the walls. sighs. laughter. Up, just a bit further. Now though lotions smeared onto rough skin, protecting your body from premature collapse. Do you remember the evil woman in the Korean drama in the public baths, unable to completely relax. not to get too comfortable so that she cannot produce the Glock from beneath the towel and fire at the bad (really good) guy hoping to surprise her. Now though we know we are exposed, unable to relax as we step from the shower, having enjoyed the long streams of water, it is pointless these days to invite our partner to join us, for here even our bodies are incapable of those joint sybaritic pleasures, rather we would sit in the bathroom and talk, and talk about something, anything. We dry ourselves quickly, pull on the towelling robe and carefully put on our glasses so that the imaginary assassin can be seen before they fully open the door and turns this white tiled room into our dying field…