Wide Eyed (9 page)

Years later, my mom told me Dad had come home drunk from a bar and slipped on the bathroom’s slick floor. After that, we got lots of bathmats and those rough vinyl flowers called flower daisies that stick on your shower floor. Nothing was ever slippery again.

II.

My brother’s old house was a partially converted laundromat. He and about ten other college-aged guys lived in the warehouse area behind a fully operational laundromat. They paid rent by working shifts, watching customers and collecting quarters, making sure dryers were lint-free and running hot.

Their kitchen was never used. Mice lived in the stove. Beer cans, cigarette butts, and bottles littered the countertops, and the pantry was stocked with jugs of cheap wine. It smelled like hobos lived there. When I asked my brother why the kitchen reeked so bad, he told me it was because they used the sink as a urinal.

The shower worked, but was mildewy. Between the tiles, the caulking was black. Maybe the tiles had been white, but they were moldy now.

One of his friends was taking a shower, scrubbing with a bar of soap and making lots of suds. He aimed his piss stream down into the drain, and the combination of hot, bitter liquid and massive soap residue caused a mutant salamander to emerge. It had been living in the drain, shower after shower, month after month. Soap scum and other human skin chunks had built up on its back, and it had bumps that looked irregular like warts, or like someone had sewn on genetically fucked-up appendages.

The boy rinsed off in a panic as he watched the amphibian creeping toward his feet. It was ruddy and black-green, like a four-inch-long crocodile. It might have been poisonous. He was afraid to touch it, but it was too quick for him. It crawled onto his foot. Reflexively he shook it off and squished it, as if it were a cockroach. But after the stomp, he had to hit it again with the shampoo bottle to fully kill it. Its flesh, blood, intestines, and textured skin mixed with his dirty suds, creating a crimson wash that forever stained the shower floor. No one got anywhere near those tiles again.

III.

My friend Rick was in medical school. He’d returned home from his anatomy class, preoccupied with upcoming assignments revolving around dissecting his first human cadaver. He was studying to be a doctor, so this was something he looked forward to. Still, you can imagine it might induce a few nightmares, or at least some apprehensive thoughts. He decided to run a bath. It was late autumn and the air in his apartment was chilly. To alleviate stress, he poured three capfuls of Avon’s Skin So Soft bath oil under the spigot, which is surprising since it’s not a very masculine product.

He took his bath like a Calgon model: soaked himself and closed his eyes, leaned back, submerged his head momentarily, rubbed his hairy chest with bath gel. His towel was laid out on the floor next to him, ready to grab. As he stood up and was bending over to get his towel, one foot flew out from under him. (Mineral oil, if you’ve never used it, leaves a film on your bathtub that can only be removed with Ajax cleanser.) He lurched forward, grabbed for the faucet but missed and fell, and was stabbed by the hot water knob. His rib cage caught on the knob, and not only did the handle pierce the skin, it was torn out again as he fell down, breaking his bottom left rib.

The water hadn’t drained yet. Blood smeared down the faucet and tinted the water pink. The worst part, he told me, was that the oily patches on the surface of the water absorbed more blood and floated around him like red lilypads. He said he felt like he was suspended in his own blood stream, surrounded by erythrocytes. A doctor’s perspective, certainly.

IV.

Two close friends of mine were filming a sequence involving a stalker coming down a flight of stairs clutching a gigantic knife. He was headed for a bright-tiled kitchen where a young girl cringed in fear. The filmmaker focused the camera on the maniac walking slowly down carpeted stairs, and he continued filming as the murderer lost his footing and fell on his knife, which penetrated his thigh so deeply it poked out the backside. The wounded murderer limped into the kitchen, leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the tiled floor. He had on work boots with heavy treading, which left arrow-like patterns pointing to him. At that point, all filming ceased. The director rushed into the kitchen where his friend was slumped awkwardly against the stove, and together they pulled the knife from his leg.

The knife severed a main artery, so blood squirted out at intervals relative to his body’s pulse. He almost bled to death. He couldn’t walk for weeks. A surgeon had to slice in there and tie the artery off. The knife was saved as a grim souvenir and added to the huge collection of knives they had around the house. One of them was an unsuccessful salesman for CUTCO at the time. He had to buy all the knives he didn’t sell. It was a door-to-door gig, but he couldn’t stand to knock on doors and nag people. He actually lost money because he was forced to purchase knives. So his impetus for making thrillers stemmed from two facts: he had lots of knives, and he hated his job.

Tiles serve to accentuate the color of blood, as well as give blood a surface to expand on, whether it forms beaded droplets, thick round drip lines, or thin smears. I’ve seen opaque smears, mostly in movies, because usually if a bleeding person is thrown against tile, their weight takes the majority of the gore down with them as they slink into a crippled pile. I’ve cut my leg shaving before, and if I touch the sliced area to the tiled wall, it merely leaves a rustcolored spot, which I immediately have to rinse off to avoid nausea. If you make a horror movie, please use tiles. They’re a cliché now, especially after Alfred Hitchcock’s
Psycho,
but one needn’t use a foot-long blade in shadow to instill fear in the viewer. Make a tiled house interior, wall-to-wall, and see what transpires. Apply mineral oil to every ceiling, wall, doorjamb, appliance, and piece of furniture. Insist all the actors perform nude. And let me know when I can see it.

THE WOOKIEE SAW MY NIPPLES

A WEEK IN THE LIFE OF PRINCESS LEIA

Monday

The boy we elected Han Solo in the sandbox last Tuesday is the most popular boy at school. I like him but not that much. I wanted Richard to win, but I was out-voted by six other girls. Anyways, I was on the bars and looked down and noticed my nipples were hanging out of my dress, so I got embarrassed and went inside. I think Han Solo saw them because he poked me with his light saber three times today at recess even though I was playing with Max. Max has red hair and eats his boogers, which is gross. But I like Max because he doesn’t go around thinking he’s so great. He’s shy and most of the sounds he makes are truck noises as he’s pushing his yellow dump trucks around. Han Solo talks all the time. He even talked in class today after Miss Kelly told him to be quiet. She was asking Lily how many red triangles she could find on the page in the book we were reading. Han said there were no red triangles and everyone started laughing. I raised my hand and said six, so Miss Kelly gave me two extra stars on the class chart. If I get fifteen more I can have a free pass to recess five minutes before everybody else. That’s how I get dibbs on the best swing or on the handball that isn’t lumpy.

Tuesday

Han Solo is so mean! I hate his guts. This morning I wrote a note to my friend Alissa and I folded it up and put like ten stickers on it so no one would read it as they passed it along. The note was about Han. I asked if she thought he was cute or not. I think he’s all right, but if I could choose Han Solo I would still pick Richard because he has light-blue eyes that are like space eyes. He looks like he would be from space and know lots of aliens, like in that bar in
Star Wars
when the aliens are playing music and there’s that blue one playing the horn that looks like an elephant. Remember when Han is in the bar and Chewie talks to him and Han knows exactly what Chewie’s saying? The average person wouldn’t know because Chewie’s language is from space. But it seems like Richard would know.

Anyways, I asked Han to pass the note to Alissa so Miss Kelly wouldn’t see. Most people will hide a note in their lap, and if Miss Kelly asks to see it they just drop it between their legs onto the floor. That’s a trick Richard learned from a fifth grader. He showed it to us, and I thought Han knew it but he didn’t. Miss Kelly took the note from Han and now I have minus five stars on my chart. Even Max is beating me. Max has the fewest stars because Miss Kelly keeps telling him not to pick his nose, but he does anyway. He should stop because almost nobody likes him.

So now Han knows I like Richard better and he probably hates my guts too!

Wednesday

Yesterday I was elected Princess Leia. Everybody stood around in the playhouse and decided with me standing right there. It was embarrassing. Han Solo picked me. It makes sense because he has to pick someone he likes or else they won’t make a good couple. Alissa told me Han picked me because I have long dark hair like Leia’s and am kind of cute! I’m not supposed to know. So I can’t act like I like Han because then he’ll know I know. At least now he doesn’t hate me, and I guess I don’t hate him as much because he started being really nice. Here’s what it was like in the playhouse today:

“Leia, come to the top level with me. We have to save Chewie, he’s trapped by Imperial Storm Troopers,” Han said.

“Wait,” I said, “let me change into my white robe.”

“There’s no time!” Han yelled as he climbed the ladder. “Chewie’s dying!”

Then he came over and put his arm around my waist and pulled me away from the closet. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, “Leia, take my hand!” Then he held my hand and helped me get up the ladder that goes to the roof. It’s small up there and there’s only room for two people. Usually whoever play Han and Leia get to go up there, sometimes Luke or Chewie, so I’d never seen the view. Han Solo sat next to me and said to look at the galaxy because one day it was going to get exploded by Darth. It was so sad and romantic. Then he kissed me on the lips.

Thursday

Han Solo is my boyfriend now! It all makes sense because I am Leia, so that’s how it really should be anyway. He hasn’t asked to see my nipples again but we’ve kissed four times so if he asks, I might show him. I asked Alissa if I should or not.

“If Han wants to look at my nipples, do you think I should let him?”

“You’re Leia. You have to,” she said. “Otherwise you might get voted out.”

“But don’t you think Miss Kelly would find out because Han would tell everybody?” I asked.

“Maybe, but then Richard will know everything and he might like you more,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because if the teacher knows and you get in trouble, Richard will think you’re cool,” she explained. “He likes girls who get in trouble.”

That made me like Richard more because he isn’t as nerdy as Han. Han is nice, but he sometimes seems sort of like a nerd. He’s a teacher’s pet. Like every day he beats the erasers outside to clean the chalk off for Miss Kelly. He has the most stars.

So I decided if Han asks, I will show him what he wants because he is technically my boyfriend. I’m thinking about breaking up, though. Richard is cooler and he’s not such a goody goody.

Friday

This morning when I was lined up against the classroom wall waiting for the bell to ring, Han Solo came over and started talking about how his wookiee wanted to meet me on the upper level at recess as soon as the bell rang. So when we got out for nutrition break I ran over there, climbed the ladder, and untucked my shirt so it could be lifted up easily. My mom makes me tuck it in but I always untuck it, so it’s not just that I was doing it for Han. Anyways, I don’t even know for sure if he saw my nipples that first time. It just seemed like it. He kept poking me in this weird, mean way. And my mom told me that sometimes boys will act mean even when they really like me. She said they’re too afraid to say it. But then the next day Han kissed me, so I don’t know what to think. Maybe he saw my nipples when we were climbing the ladder that first time. He was looking up and holding my hand, so he could’ve peeked if he tried.

I was on the upper level waiting. Then up came Han, but he brought Chewie with him! I thought we were going to be alone. Chewie was handcuffed. Han told me he’d just rescued him from the Death Star and that they’d barely survived. Chewie roared because it’s against the rules to speak. I noticed Chewie had dirty fingers and wondered why. But I was too nervous to ask.

“Leia, please locate the key to unlock these cuffs,” Han said. I like him better when he’s bossy. I started looking on the floor and picked up an imaginary key.

“Unlock my wookiee,” he said as Chewie roared again. I set him free.

“Han, is Chewie going to stay here?” I asked. “Or do you think we should transfer him to Sector 7-B, where he can take a bath and eat?”

“Chewie has permission to stay,” Han said. And Chewie put his hand on my hair, brushing it as if he had a big hairy paw. I didn’t like this at all and pulled away.

Han asked his wookiee to turn around while he asked Leia something. Then Han whispered to me that if I could pull up my shirt and show his wookiee it might make Chewie feel better. Chewie was sick because Darth had tortured him with needles and hot metal. I knew it! I knew he had seen my nipples that time! I couldn’t wait to tell Alissa.