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2002-10-15 || 9:37 p.m. || bath tubs and grocery stores || i used to be obsessed with bath tubs and grocery stores. back when we had the haunted bath tub whose clawfeet and spigot were beautiful enough to make movies of, he had a ritual of taking baths. baths while smoking cigarettes. baths while listening to the velvet underground on the beat-up boom box held on a shelf with duct tape. baths while i read to him from the books i was reading or stories i was writing. him: hair wet and slicked back so that his widow's peak was visible. lying with his head resting on the closer edge of the tub. wet wash cloth over his eyes or eyes closed or lying sideways to watch the movement of the water surrounding him while i read. me: sitting against the door on 50-year-old lino. towel in my lap. red sweater and his shirt and pink furry slippers, matted from the water splashed to accomodate the shifting of weight, the heaving of inhales. and i read to him. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |