Quadragesimus Primus Gradus

The sweet bathroom air had wicked away the moisture, leaving the toothbrush to rest dry along the edge of the cup. Its bristles nodded more directly toward the bathroom door than when she’d left, but it was an imperceptible difference.

Above the toothbrush resided a mirror. The glass was as clear as to be invisible. By one angle, its smooth reflection of the baby-blue wall together with its white decorative rim rendered the silvered plane indistinguishable from a window. By another angle, the mirror captured the next room. From this angle, it recorded an ever-rolling history of the living room’s events.

Of particular interest to the mirror was the fireplace. The pale stones that surrounded the cavity stood apart from the blue-gray walls. Less often than so, the tongues of the fireplace danced between the wood, reaching vainly toward the white stones, able only to stain them with smoke. The gentle orange cast of the flames brought significant beauty to the mirror. Within the confines of the mirror the light blue paint would embrace the vibrant glow in a union of elegant gradients and strikes, as if a sunset were occurring during the brightness of noon. Though, presently, as it were, the fireplace rested.

The wood within creaked four times throughout the day, groaning at the same pain which caused the metal grating to retract into itself; wintery air.

A pen rested, ink stubborn from the chill, on a stack of papers. Its ends were perfectly aligned with the corners of the sheets. The sheets were stacked precisely atop each other as if freshly cut on a factory line. The rest of the table was clear and fresh with disinfectant.

Plip… plip… the mouth of the bathtub watered.

The door opened, betraying no noise itself, but introducing the chit-chatter of friends in the hallway to the apartment. The conversation fell away in a smooth curve punctuated by the click, snikt of the door closing and the lock triggering.

Her warm breath whirled invisible before her mouth in the chilly room.

Her finger, skin tight to the muscle to preserve heat, brushed two switches in one stroke.

Tk, tk.

Suddenly the mirror burst to life, welcoming the writhing flames as they built their strength around the wood. The room, darkened by the evening and the gray walls, smoothed into the soft, orange light of a cabin in the woods as lamps rose to life. She casted shadows throughout the room as she navigated through, the mirror noting her familiar path toward the bathroom.

She cut around the corner, her face captured clearly in the mirror, all the dirt collected into streaks on her cheeks, congregated in the corners of her eyes, smeared on her forehead in the places she’d brushed with the back of her hand a dozen times that day. The mirror noticed the minute streaks of red that lined her face, microscopic abrasions that had drawn scarcely a full drops’ worth of blood when considered altogether.

Leaning over the bathtub, her dirty fingers pressed the lever. The rushing noise of water was met a moment later by the crashing of water on the bathtub floor. When the current began to steam and her skin was brushed by its warmth she flipped a switch to stop the drain. Then she stood upright before the sink.

She reached her hand to the handle. The cold, crafted metal sent a ripple up her arm. She sucked in her breath, turning the faucet. Bending to the bowl of the sink she washed a handful of water over her mouth, felt the dirt and grime rinse away. Rising, she took soap in her hands and cleaned them, remembering the first time she washed her hands after replacing a bike chain, the hours she’d spent scrubbing at the grease. Now, she was contented with ten seconds, confident that what would come off had come off. 

Out came the toothbrush from the cup, and on its bristles squeezed a pea-sized blot of paste. She brushed her teeth in small, circular motions, targeting each tooth and being gentle over the gums. The taste and smell of lunch and labor, of a mouth anxious for water, was siphoned into the foam of the paste, ejected and washed down the sink. When she replaced the toothbrush to the cup she smiled, exhaled, and felt a surge of energy that spun her on her heel and put her back into the living room.

The crisp air of the bathroom dragged behind her, curling with the warming living room air. She stood for a moment in front of the fire place, allowing the heat to wrap around her as it rushed forth to counteract the little winter trapped in the apartment. She swayed there, enjoying the smell of the woodsmoke. Closing her eyes she saw late night campfires before her, the smoke shifting and driving itself toward her sister, then her brother, before they were both gone, replaced by college friends, now younger versions of themselves, now a vast fire clawing at an old couch. Grinning, her eyes fell open as she turned, reaching for the pen.

The mirror watched her snip it between her finger and thumb, twirl it like a cowboy’s revolver, and let it rest in that comfortable pocket of flesh between her thumb and her index finger. The ink flowed, broken up by the twirl and the rising air, and her mind fell into the pages, staining them with her elegant script. She peeled back the top sheet, crumpled it, and let it fall onto the table. Again the pen pressed against the paper, jumping and scratching fast across its grain, it and the ink and the page becoming her the longer she scrabbled prose into it.

The deep thumping of water pouring into itself began to rise as she lifted the pen from the paper, clicked it closed, and rested it with points perfectly aligned with the corners of the sheets.

She bobbed into the bathroom, pulled the lever down, allowing the faucet to hiss back to rest. She sank into the water above her head. The dirt and grim lifted from her skin like hummingbirds from branches, whisked away by the soapy water. She exhaled, listening to the bubbles as they rose and bursted up top, smiling at her memories of the ocean, the waves crashing down on her and her friends as they struggled to surf. She remembered the violent smell of salt, now replaced by a relaxed rosy fragrance.