Umbilical Chord
Umbilical Chord
For some reason, Link was strangely amused by the slow, surrounding, cooling numbness of the graying bath water. He lay there pondering, as much as the next guy would; sit in the bath and think sit in the bath and think sit in the bath and think sit in the bath and think....and STOP! – before he really would start to echo the repetitive linguistic banalities of Jack Torrance from The Shining. Link reminded himself of what had happened as a result of that, eager to avoid driving himself to insanity “a bit far fetched really though, for me any way” he thought, calming himself.
But like his claustrophobic surroundings, Link was numbing also, in the humid bathroom mist and in his routine; remembering unconscious instinct. “Just about everything covered – thought-wise and otherwise!”. He liked that, hence was his lonely and sudden exclamation. To avoid any further restriction, he launched his awkward and untoned physique from the cramped interior of the bath.
His clothes began to stream, almost immediately, soaking the tiled bathroom floor, so sodden were they with water, - a sudden, rapid gushing, falling and dripping; following their own “unknowing existential downpour!”. Boy, he was on a roll today!
The welcoming, idealistic American Blue sky outside stretched itself all the way to the shallow skyscrapers of downtown Phoenix – and then some. August heat beaming down fiercely on the glossy hyper-real suburban swimming pools of Scottsdale, Arizona. 9am and getting hotter. Even college dropouts get good weather here. The Sun doesn’t discriminate, it punishes everyone.
Light blue turns to dark blue and dark blue turns to black; that’s what Link was wearing, his multi-shaded blue pajamas had become darker once they had been submerged into water. He had tried to get out of the habit of wearing, at the very least, the bottom half of his nocturnal attire in the bath, but not only did he feel exposed, but he also knew he was tempting fate by “going commando”. Because you just never know...
Having left his blindfold elsewhere in the apartment, Link was forced to improvise. His interview was at 12, enough time – perhaps. They began to surge in him again, like remembrances of playground humiliation, unwillingness and necessity. It would work out ok, wouldn’t it??
The air con was faulty; as he opened the bathroom door, reaching around to fetch his clothes, hanging on a clothes peg to right. Link felt a surge of stagnant and humid air entwining around him. All he had to do was get dressed. Everyone does it, why does it never get any easier? With eyes firmly shut, Link began to undress, the stagnant, heavy, stillness silent, as if in anticipation like an invisible unsympathetic audience. The heavy and wet bottom half of his attire plopped neatly to the floor. Luckily, Link had placed his underwear inside his trousers, enabling him to kill two birds with one stone - “This should be the easy part”.
Eyes still tightly shut, Link managed to place his feet into the collapsed, black chinos that were on the floor, and quickly shimmied them up over his butt, connecting them over his waist, thankfully linking them all together by fastening his belt. He was so tempted to look! His eyes, pressed so tightly together began to quake under the strain. But Link was determined to remain stoic, for the hardest part of all....
He felt the wet heavy cloth, wiping itself clumsily, clammy against his now dry face, and sweeping his dried, cropped hair backwards into an unflattering style. But that was the least of his concerns. His eyelids quivered uneasily, his heartbeat audible as the t-shirt came off, leaving his upper torso naked and vulnerable, his rounded belly bobbing as he struggled for breath amidst the thin air. he crouched, squatting, lower to the floor, uneasy - but oh shit! Where was that shirt? Stretching his arms out along the floor, trying desperately to keep his balance, trying to feel for his shirt, trying to keep his eyes shut - TRYING NOT TO LOOK AT HIS NAVEL!
“AHHHHH!” Link yelled as he lost his balance, totally disorientated, hitting his head on the floor, but he was ok, not unconscious at least- though he really wished that he were. He slowly concluded that he needed to open his eyes. But as soon as he did his eyes were uncontrollably drawn to his bellybutton! Link felt nothing, numbness again, but this was quickly replaced by a sudden overwhelming and all consuming panic....
He ran, dashed anywhere, just to get out of the bathroom, his finger in his navel, shrieking like a hysteric schoolgirl! “WHERE? OH WHERE! DID I PUT THE ALUMINIUM FOIL?”. Scrambling around the kitchen, amidst the pots and pans, the Taco Bell wrappers, burger boxes and empty Root Beer drinks containers, searching throwing frantically tearing away the foil from the roll, “IT WONT FUCKING FIT IN YOUR NAVEL!”- He threw it aside, accidentally knocking over a large bowl of Tortilla Chips in the process and then.......SANCTUARY!...a straw. “Yeah, that will fit!”. And thus it was that Link had found his prosthetic umbilical cord, in the form of a straw from a half-finished soda.
Returning to the scene of the crime, Link closed the bathroom door and placed himself on to the toilet. Warm, milky, happy feelings graced him once again; the previously hostile heat accentuated childhood smiles and glowing warmth. He breathed, sighed, and relaxed.
