Maybe what they say is true- I’m just a crazy dyke freak. So I guess I’ll just sit here and let the bubbles encase me like a Siberian creature fallen under the ice. I’ll let the hum and pop of the bubbles melodically lull me into a state of complete non-existence.

She sits and waits, but the bubbles soon evaporate past her eyes and down her chin until she’s left to sit in the lukewarm water like any other girl in a tub. She opens her eyes, disappointed to find that god must have other plans for her.

This is where Scarlett and I used to take baths together. We’d pretend we were mermaids and this bathtub was our secret island.

She smiles, remembering how easy it had been back then. She can almost see the underground caves that they’d built together by throwing bath towels atop the canopy of the porcelain tub. They’d swim under it, the bathroom light casting strange shadows through the tiles, light playing games across their fat cheeks to catch them sputtering the water out as they met in the center, catching each other’s tongues in girly kisses. But that was then. Looking down at her wrinkling hands, she lets out an exasperated sigh.

I need to get the hell out of here.

Colleen opens her bedroom door and is hit with an uncomplimentary waft of patchouli and old pizza. Looking down, she groans to pick up the dirty underwear coated with incense chips and matches. It wasn’t always like this. Up until a year ago her world was perfect- well, tolerable, at least—and that was more than any high school senior could ask for. Her house had once been filled with flowers. Hundreds of daisies and blood-orange chrysanthemums would attack visitors upon entering. It was all because of Lilly, her mother. The woman that people and animals alike would flock to. The one who named Colleen after a rock groupie in the sixties who’d forever affected her mother insufferably, or so she liked to say. Colleen never understood why her mother couldn’t have had the pleasure of falling in love with an Edie Sedgwick, Debbie Harry, a Petula Clarke, even. Why had she started a life with someone whose name signified complete and utter normalcy? Col, she repeated as her mother had always done. Just saying it made her choke, like swallowing nasty cough syrup. Col.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She contemplates cleaning up everything. All it would take would be one giant swoop and four or five trash bags.

But what’s the point?

She knows that in a day or two it will look like a bomb shelter once more. She goes downstairs. She looks around her humble abode and is suddenly overcome with fear. While reviewing the situation, she can’t believe the hand she’s been dealt. A dead mother, junkie brother and escaped lover gleam at her from the mantelpiece. Each picture telling a different yet very similar story: one finished, one beginning at an end, and the last unknown. When the will’s executor had told Colleen last summer that she would inherit their East Village loft, she couldn’t believe it. She had just graduated high school, and most kids her age were trying to find summer jobs. Ideally, she would have had the help of her 17 year-old brother Matt, but he neglected to tell Colleen about his own plans.

Fuck you Matt. You want to be a pseudo-bohemian hippie, huh? That’s just fine. Squat in California, see if I care. I hope your feet rot from those shitty Birkenstocks, and your natty dreads get invaded by lice. I don’t need you…I don’t…

In one week, it seemed her entire life had been lifted off its plane to spin whichever way on its own axis. In Colleen’s obvious state of shock, all she can think is, But, who will do the wash?

Staring at the framed faces smiling down at her, as usual, she becomes aware of the absence. She rarely thinks of him. Well, that’s not exactly true. She rarely thinks of him¸ the father. She prefers to think of him, the gladiator, or professor, but rarely would she submit herself as the pining daughter. Maybe the smell of eggnog from her neighbors, or the cool air reflecting off of the picture frames does it, but she lets her mind wander. She wonders what he is like- is he kind, sincere, spiritual, involved with nature, generous, (other than donating a Y chromosome that is)? She hasn’t the faintest clue. She would like to imagine that he is a professional nomad, thereby excusing his complete absence from her life. One day he will return from his travels in the Middle East, the Mediterranean and beyond, bearing gifts for Colleen. He will bring back Saris ranging from the petite to the absurdly large for his amalgamous daughter. A smile creeps across her face as she envisions him making his way by Greyhound bus through Buffalo and Idaho to find her. Stopping at every bus stop, making the other passengers wait just so he can pick up every souvenir license plate he can find. At 2.99 a piece he has acquired more women than Casanova himself. Beauties starting with Annie, Betty, Carla, Donna, to the more exotic Sharona’s and Yvonne’s. Each one different, each one a hopeful possibility.

What happened to it all, where did everything go?

She looks up and is caught in her own reflection- glass reflects everything, and does not lie. Her brown eyes carry as much baggage beneath them as her own life’s tale. Her matted hair is no better.

Oh god, when was the last time I showered?

Showers and baths held no purpose to her anymore other than as excuses. As long as she could continue a routine, that’s what it was all about, she thinks. Stepping into the shower, standing for a few minutes as wet particles slid off of her head. Her mind worked like a sweatshop. Commands had been drilled into her head long ago, now all she had to do was follow them.

Step out of shower. Walk to dresser. Put new clothes on body. Take clothes off. Put new clothes on.

That’s when Col would realize that even with a steady routine; she would inevitably fuck it up. Somewhere along the way she had forgotten to take a towel to dry off. Such a simple task, yet without a miss, Col could be certain to forget one vital step. It was always the small things that gave her away.
On Col’s first day of school her mother hastily shooed her onto the bus with a paper bag lunch in one hand and her other hand wound up in a tight ball. As she boarded the bus her mother reached into her side pocket, feeling around for her cigarettes but merely came up with matches instead. Col took a seat next to a friendly looking brown-haired girl. She smelled like Vicks Vapo-Rub and breathed heavily as she stared intently at Col. Col tried desperately to focus on the back of the seat in front of her so as to avoid making eye contact with the creature beside her.
Please don’t speak, Col prayed silently to herself. But cruel inevitability has a strange way of always presenting itself in situation such as this one.

”I’m Scarlett. What you got in your hand?” the creature breathed.
      Col held out her brown paper bag and said, “My lunch.”
      
The creature wheezed in and out in what Col took to be a laugh and said, “No, I mean in your other hand.”

Col looked down at her right hand and slowly uncurled her fingers. Sitting in the center of her palm was a pack of Marlboro reds.

“Holy cow!” the creature said. “Cigarettes, wow!” The creature’s remark grabbed the attention of the children sitting in front of Col, and soon, the ones in back of her too. Shortly thereafter, kids were taking turns grabbing the pack of cigarettes out of Col’s hand and tossing it back and forth to one another. That is, until the pack landed in the hands of Mrs. Linden, Col’s soon to be kindergarten teacher. She held the pack calmly between the palms of her two hands while looking down at Colleen. Mrs. Linden had her eyes half open, half closed, as if debating whether to say a prayer for this poor agnostic child or to command that the bus be stopped immediately in order to throw both the cigarettes and the girl out in one commanding shove. Finally, she decided upon her own happy medium. Mrs. Linden leaned in right beside Col’s ear and softly said, “I’m sorry to hear about your father, Colleen. They told me you might give me some problems but this really is not the way to go about making friends. If I ever see this sort of thing again I will have to have your mother come and pick you up. We do not tolerate this sort of behavior at St. Luke’s.” Her eyes penetrated Col’s like a scalding spoon against her fleshy skin. “Mrs. Linden!” the creature piped in. “The cigarettes are mine.” A slow pause followed as Mrs. Linden looked suspiciously back from the creature to Col and slowly said, “Are you sure, Scarlett?”
      “Yes Mrs. Linden. I don’t want my mommy to smoke anymore. I took them from her this morning to help her.” She looked up shyly into the teacher’s face and said, “I won’t do it again, I promise. I just…don’t want my mommy to die.” Mrs. Linden gave a look, which, to this day, Col still can’t quite explain. It was as if the creature had used some godly power to cast a cool spell over Mrs. Linden and her mouth curled upwards into a frightened smile.
      “That won’t be necessary, Scarlett.” She leaned into Scarlett’s angelic face. “My father died from lung cancer when I was 21. I understand completely.” And with that, she squeezed Scarlett’s shoulder, turned on her Bergdorf Goodman heels and walked to the back of the bus. Colleen smiles, remembering what happened next. Small Colleen took Scarlett’s hand and said, “Let’s be friends.” Scarlett showed a toothy grin and said, “Of course!”
      She steps away from the mantle, creating a physical and mental chasm between herself and the past. She walks to the green leather couch and plops down, a habit her mother detested.

Old habits die hard.

She almost laughs at her own pun. Reaching into her back pocket, she curls her fingers around the box and pulls it out. She taps the Marlboro Reds against her palm and, like magic, a solitary cigarette creeps out. She lights it and looks back out the window. Hard rain beats against the window pane as cars dart back and forth in the street. She exhales deeply against the window, her forehead giving heat to the cold glass.

I wish I could stay like this forever. I could watch the world go by, and nobody would ever know I was even here.

She closes her eyes and desperately tries to tear the thin plastic band off her wrist. She almost finds solace in its defiance against her tugs. It resembles herself- stubborn to the last struggle. A car screeches to a halting stop in front of the lonely apartment. She hears a car door slam, and a women’s size 8 patent white shoes clicking against the pavement.

No, no, no, no, noo…

Her hand shakes as she brings the cigarette back to her trembling lips. A pound on the door. An exhalation. Another pound. And then the door breaks down. Col locks her eyes so tight she’s certain she’s gone blind. The clicking becomes louder and louder until Col realizes that she should’ve plugged her ears as well.
      “We’ve been very worried about you Colleen,” she woman’s voice booms. “You know you gave us quite a scare.” Lacquered nails touch Col’s shoulders and two more hands wrap around her waist. She doesn’t know where all these bodies are coming from but she begins to shake.

“Oh mom,” she whispers, as the wet tears seep out of her closed eyes, down her nose and eventually put out her cigarette. The hands, now six of them, pull her up into the air and Col is flying. She’s flying out of the apartment as she feels her mother continue to hug and hold her.
“Mom, mom,” she says louder now as the needle digs its’ way under her skin. She can’t understand why her legs have gone numb, or why her head feels as light as a feather. Her eyes flutter open and closed, open and closed, open and closed…until…finally, she falls deeply asleep.