Imagery

Two twin-sized mattresses share a king size frame. The first, slightly higher than the other, has one rusty spring exposed; luckily at the foot of the bed. The second shows its age through an inescapable indentation from years of the same person sleeping in the same spot night after night. Two pillows have been violently pushed against the headboard. The sheets lay at the foot of the bed in an almost unrecognizable ball. The off-white comforter lays on the ground, covering a mess of clothes.

The blinds are drawn tightly in a futile attempt to keep out light, and perhaps prying eyes. However, the result is a noticeable lack of fresh air and shadows large enough to disguise reality.

On a scarred nightstand is a fluorescent light that burns to touch, illuminating only the table. Next to the lamp lays an upended picture frame and a standard alarm clock, obscenely claiming that it is nine-thirty. The first drawer is open and the light shines off a torn box of Trojans. The box lays in juxtaposition to a Bible, an older version that still has crisp edges and a price label.

The carpet is a late seventies style shag. From the store it was bright orange with a pile of one inch in length. Now it is a dull orange and much shorter. In some places, the carpet has turned brown from the constant abuse of feet. In one spot near the door a floorboard shows through.

The most interesting parts of the room are the two options in which one can leave it. The first, farthest from the bed, is open into a cool, dark hallway. The second, closest to the bed, drips with moisture. A dim light breaks the continuance of door to floor. The shower is running.

A simple glass door shower has become opaque. A single shadow moves inside, writhing and shaking. The sound of the shower almost drowns out the soft sobs of a woman. The fan whirs and sticks, threatening to stop. It is an overused threat that has become empty.

The water is hot, too hot, making the floors and ceiling impossible to see. Attempts to wash away the mixed scents of sex and self doubt result only in angry red flesh. The shower stops but the figure remains within its prison. The fog clears.

A small bowl sink is now visible beneath a still fogged up mirror. The handles are faux silver and rusty. The bowl shows years of water wear and the paint is chipping off. The drain stains a ring of rust at the bottom. Partway down the drain something sparkles. The gold band is inscribed, "Joy & Steven, love and loyalty forever", in a delicate cursive.