The shampoo, minty and a little bit stingy, had taken a long time to rinse out of Cloud’s hair. Cloud could see two distant feet. Suds gripping tight. Toes wiggling and wriggling. Part of him and also not.
Cloud sighed at the grouting. Black clumps were forming. Cloud made a mental note to buy some caustic soda and to use Sun’s toothbrush later in the day.
Cloud reach an arm out, in the general area of where a towel should be and grabbed nowt but air. Confused and suddenly aware of being naked, Cloud instinctively tried to cover unmentionables with one hand and pushed the shower curtain away with another.
Cloud scanned the bathroom for the towel he knew he had placed on the rail as per the everyday routine. There was no sign of it. None at all. Vanished.
Gone.
Stolen.
But who and why?
Cloud was already behind schedule. And this would simply not do. Not at all.
Faced with the arduous task of using a half dozen face towels to get to a respectably damp state or going the drip dry route, Cloud weighed up the options.
Drip dry it was.
Cloud stood proud. Feet shoulder width apart. Hand on hips. Drips dripping. Rivulets pooling at the springs of Cloud’s temples. Droplets finding droplets at the nape of the neck. Tinder for H20. Dozens of liquid hook ups. The downward path decided by skin imperfections, goosebumps and hairs.
Irrigation of chest. A reservoir in the belly button. A Tsunami at the buttocks and a tidal wave at the front parts, those already mentioned unmentionables.
The drops dropped, collecting speed. Gaining momentum. The pools at cloud’s feet large enough for fish to swim in. Someone could be a big fish there.
Make a real fist of it.
Cloud thought of the journey these beads would take. Water mixed with shower gel and shampoo, mixed with sweat and skin and hair... Cloud wondered how the people felt when the sky became full. When the ‘clouds burst’.
Such a funny turn of phrase.
As the ‘rain’ fell. Tongues sticking out. Hands turned palms up. Brollies jabbing high. Shoes soaking up the puddles.
Cloud did a little shake, the globs fanning wider. Covering much more ground. Cloud slicked long hair back from his forehead...he must also call the barber.
Cloud’s sopping wet footprints showed exactly where he had been.
Puddled proof of purpose. Ghostly reminders of a recent past.
He had a strange gait, Cloud noticed. Pronounced outstep on the right and instep on the left. He should be walking in circles and would never be a very good dancer.
So very strange.
And there was the towel. It had fallen IN the bath. And a cat now slept on it. Purring.
Cloud let the cat sleep. Better that than risk a claw finding a delicate spot.
This is how days begun.
