Obsession

Xander Benson stepped from beneath the awning of his battered house. Weathered yellow paint peeled in long, uneven lines from the sun bleached wood. The geraniums planted last spring had wilted with lack of water and too much sun. The late evening was somewhat chill in comparison to the last few weeks, but the breeze was refreshing and the sound of it rushing through crisp, brown and overly long grass made him wish for early spring rather then late summer. Shaggy hair that was a rich, coppery color in ordinary light now seemed a deep amber. Going out at night was a first. His mother letting him was another first. What had confused him the most was being called up nearly a week ago to be asked to a party- He had friends, but he wasn't the party going type. He was shy and quiet, well behaved. The loud, crowded atmospheres of parties were a shock to his system, but as he walked down the cracked sidewalk, shoulders hunched as if he were cold; he realized that perhaps he couldn't really say what a party would be like: he had never been to one.1

Knocking on the door made him nervous, he felt like vomiting in the bright greenish-blue ferns that decorated the doorstep of the almost mansion-like house before him. White stucco on the outside, elegantly draped lace curtains on every French style window. He could see the gazebo that likely contained a hot tub from the window in the double French doors he now stood in front of. He could also hear the slow, almost methodical beat of music that he was sure generated in the depths of the house, and when he came there it would fill his soul and usurp his heartbeat more completely then anything he'd ever felt in his life. His lips twitched nervously, and he ran his tongue over them in hopes of alleviating the dryness in his throat and mouth. He nervously pressed his finger to the doorbell again, and finally heard the stirrings of someone coming to answer the door.2

The door was opening and he was being greeted with a lazy smile by a person he remembered from school. A not so close friend, but they had talked once in awhile. The boy had carefully groomed blonde hair and hazel eyes, freckles that were the only remnants of the boys childhood. He was slender and trim-looking, wearing a soft looking forest green sweater and khakis. He felt underdressed in his jeans and worn converse, in the soft cotton shirt proclaiming what band he listened too. But he was still motioned inside as small talk commenced. 3

"Everyone is downstairs, go ahead and introduce yourself." he gave Xander a little push towards the ornate stairs. The house was clean smelling, full of expensive woods and furniture that was more meant to be looked at then sat upon. He went down the steps slowly, and the music filled his ears and his mind until it felt as if everything he was had melted away and there was nothing left but the throbbing of the beat and the soft, almost mournful crooning of the voice. He was greeted with quizzical smiles, and warm hellos and introductions before being motioned onto a couch. It seemed somewhat laid back at the moment, one group passing around a joint and kids coming in and out of the room alone or in pairs. He was lost in the things to see, smell, hear. Beneath the cloying scent of perfumes and colognes was the smell of bodies, clean and fresh. He leaned into the cushions of the soft couch, losing himself to the whole atmosphere.4

She sat on the toilet, seat down, staring at the interesting patterns the mosaic of tiles made. It was rather like being a balloon reaching the upper planes of the atmosphere, and you could feel everything that you were pushing out and waiting to burst into a small shred of rubber. She wondered, in that instant, if balloons panicked when released. Or if they indulged in the sudden freedom that would lead to their ultimate demise. Rubbing at her no longer red-streaked eyes, she looked at the bathroom door. Carefully hung robe, perfectly ordered soap dish upon the sink. She wondered if this is what it meant to be happy. If this was the kind of life that people sought after because when you had seven scents of lavender soap shaped like flowers, you knew everything was right with the world. 5

She rose slowly, unsteadily from her porcelain throne. Her skirt shifted as it fell around her slender legs, it stopped just above the knee, a smooth, sheer feeling fabric that made her feel like she might be naked and not know it. It was a pale blue color, it matched her wide, frightened looking eyes. Platinum curls clung to her face, spiraling down about her shoulders. She was long and slender, all legs and waist. Her white blouse clung to her small breasts encased in a red lace bra most enticingly. It wasn't an outfit she would have chosen for herself, she didn't enjoy showing her body off.6

She had removed her shoes some time ago, and now stood barefoot in front of a large mirror. Her skin, in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, was smooth and pale, like a baby's almost. Perfectly untouched by the acne that seemed to ravage so many teens. Her pores were simply too small. She brushed a delicate hand along the stray curl that fell into her face, the bracelet on her arm tinkling.7

Was this what it was to feel complete? To be alive? To have a five bedroom house with four bathrooms and two fireplaces? Sighing, she stripped off her clothing, pulling back the shower curtain and cranking the air-conditioning to full blast. She had some time, after all. The bathtub was filled with lime-green liquid that would soon be gel. Sliding in she leaned back to wait.8

He was sipping at the drink someone had shoved in his hand, kids were packed onto the sofa as someone had put in a movie. It appeared to be a horror. He was having a hard time concentrating on anything except the way sound seemed to be slowing down and melting, which in itself was a confusing prospect. He was being patted on the back and asked questions, but he was unsure as to how to respond to them. The movie seemed to be melting, the sound hollow and distant as if he were hearing it underwater.9

He sat like this for what seemed like hours, every movement bringing on a bought of dizziness that sent him into fits of laughter. When they finally died down, it wasn't too long before he felt dizzy again, and was laughing. And the movement just never seemed to end, the screaming and the suspenseful music. If he had been able to focus on it, he might have been terrified. But all he could really think about was how amazingly warm he felt, and the growing pressure in his bladder. And finally the movie ended, and the people seemed to disperse for food and drinks. And he was left sitting basically alone on the couch.10

He got to his feet, unsteadily, and asked where the bathroom was in a somewhat slurred voice, thinking he might be being to loud, he mumbled most of the words. The host of the party pointed him in the right direction, looking just as mellow as Xander felt, and he was suddenly encased in silence. The silence between every sound and voice he'd ever heard. The silence he unconsciously focused on before going to sleep- the silence that wrapped around him like a warm and comfortable blanket.11

He didn't think to knock on the door, and paid little to no attention to the skirt, blouse, softly red lace panties and bra upon the floor. He didn't notice the slight sigh when he lifted the toilet seat, unzipping his pants and pulling it out. Nor did he notice that he was slowly listing to the left, towards the bathtub until he suddenly felt like he was falling and put out his free arm to brace himself.12

He laughed rather loudly, very suddenly, and she jerked out of her silent contemplation. Noticing the stoned, male laugh and realizing it was one she had never heard before.13

Her slim body was encased in clear, lime green solid gel. She looked like she was one of those fruit dishes, only instead of pieces of apple and pear- there was a person stuck inside it. Her wondrously blue eyes fluttered open, there was a great sucking sound as she freed her elbow from the jello, moving with amazing slowness to pull back the curtain.14

A very confused and stoned looking boy met her gaze, he had been in the middle of zipping up, it seemed, the sound of the toilet flushing filled her ears. She peered up at him, her platinum curls bound in a clip to keep them out of the jello while it was still liquid. He looked from her, to the solid mass of jello, to his half zipped pants. And then a blush seemed to spread from his neck up, till his face was almost full rose pink. She blinked at him, wondering what was the matter. And in that instant, him staring and blushing, her gaze followed to his half-zip pants, and seemed to stay there, imperturbable as any boulder. When she spoke it was lazy, and quiet, almost as if she had to think on the proper pronunciation and meaning of every word before she said it. Her pale blue eyes moved to his face, where the blush was slowly receeding as he realized she was naked, and his jaw dropped.15

"Is the party over?" her voice ended in that all too familiar querilous uplift, and seemed to ring against the tiles. Despite it's quietness. He shook his head for what seemed like ages, then started laughing again, slumping against the bathroom counter.16

"How'd you get all that jello?" he finally asked, sounding about as lazy as she did, if not more so, and she would have shrugged if she could. But instead she shook her head, causing the clip of platinum ringlets to shake with her.17

"I bought it. I live next door." she smiled, looking up at him, registering for the second time that she did not know this boy, that she was sitting in a bathtub full of jello, and had no clear idea as to how she was going to get out and cleaned up. And it was in that instant that she realized she didn't care. It didn't matter. Everything would continue on regardless of whether she got out of the jello or not. Everything would keep moving, if she had five bedrooms and lived with her husband. If she had seven shades of beige to wear everyday for the rest of her life- it wouldn't matter to the world. But it would matter to her. In this moment, it would matter to her if she was stuck in the jello. It would matter to this boy, because he would never be able to forget, even if he was completely stoned. 18

"Do you need some help?" the question she knew would come all along- finally came. Again, she attempted a shrug, but failed. Her eyes seemed so very hopeful to him in that instant, for a future, perhaps for a house like this. 19

"Yes, I think I do." she said, looking down at her frozen body and wondering again what the fascination with nudity was. Wondering why anyone would crave for this life- one so empty of all feeling but the cares of what the neighbors might think if they came over and had to use the bathroom and they couldn't choose their own soap. Or wondering if they had been insulted because the cookies weren't done at 5 when they arrived. Knowing that it was a pointless existence, this, knowing that there were only hollow smiles and empty praises when all they really wanted you to do was marry into money and have five children and be everything they aren't but yearn to be. 20

And no one could ever really be anything but what they were. No matter the soaps or the couches or the fireplaces or yachts. In the moments between living, when they would wake up suddenly to realize that their entire life was a facade of parties and masks, they would find themselves terribly alone.21

And terribly empty.22

He nodded, but made no real move to help her out of the tub, he just stood swaying stupidly and pretending not to stare at her. But then, what was there for him to do? She was encased in a huge block of jello. It would melt eventually, and if she wiggled that would help. He blushed, thinking about her wiggling naked in jello, which is so slippery, and looked down to zip his pants up the rest of the way as a warm rush of blood and the familiar tingle converged there. She didn't seem to notice, as she was staring up at the shower head, seeming to contemplate life.23

He realized, gradually, how very stoned he was, and he sat down on the toilet, seat down, letting his head fall into his hands. He was mortified. He'd never been stoned before, this was not the person he cared to become, walking in on stoned girls in bathtubs completely stoned himself. He didn't want this. He wanted a quiet life in a house with a view of the beach and a garden and a wife and kids. He wanted something more then what he had.24

He wanted a world that was safe. He wanted something better then the world his parents had. He calmed down soon enough, when he realized he was breathing raggedly and found his cheeks wet with tears. He turned his hazel eyes, a rich, almost red color, on the girl, and she was looking at him. She seemed confused, but even in that confusion it was as if she could understand the pain of realizing you are becoming the opposite of what you are.25

And it was only his first party. It was only his first experiance, and he was so little. He could get out. One had to experiment. But he didn't get invited to parties, he didn't do drugs. But the atmosphere, it was calm, it was what nothing in his life was.26

It felt like escaping. Like being free for the first time until he realized that there was no freedom to be found. 27

It wasn't his place to help this girl or offer her anything- she had everything and he had nothing but this high and this experiance to remember forever so that when school came again he could tell himself why he didn't really hang out with these kids more then at school. Because he didn't really fit in- even if they thought he did. The world seemed to narrow to this bathroom, to this now, to this girl sitting in jello completely stoned. And he looked at the tight golden curls hanging from a clip, and he studied the profile of her pale face, and he felt himself falling into a pit he knew he would never climb out of- if indeed he even wanted too. He sucked in his breath, the first real sound, and she looked up at him, and there was some unexplained knowledge in her eyes when she looked at him. And he prayed that he might never have to look at anyone like that. 28

Shuffling, nervous, he left the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. She remained where she was, locked in jello, and he sat down on the couch, watching in what seemed extremely slow motion as the people pulsed and slipped and lived in a stupor. And this was their life. And this was his life. And there was no differance, but for his shame that he had sought to be free only to discover another, if more decorated, prison. The prison of the heart.29

They ushered her up the cool, smooth stairs. The wood was polished and gleamed in the honey sunlight of early morning. Expensive paintings and perfect family portraits hung on the walls, there was a cool hush of the air conditioner as it spewed chilled and recycled air. The blanket around her shoulders was warm, soft against her skin. It smelled of laundry and made her wish for the time she had gone to her grandparents during the summer and they used to make her peanut butter sandwiches when she came in from the pool- still wet and wrapped in a giant, warm and cozy towel. Her skin still held the same off green tint, but that would fade with a shower. She clutched her clothes in a bundle outside the blanket, and her escorts (her neighbors) left her at the bathroom door, with promises of coming back later for a little fun. She gave a hollow smile, looked around her, and felt a gaping hole opening beneath her. She let out her breath in the silence of the house, and she looked at the imported lace curtains on the window, and the fine pedastal sink and double-shower head stall and jet tub in an adjoining room, and the tears welled in her eyes. Because next to the sink was a china soap dish, and six differant flower shaped soaps perfumed the air of the bathroom- and the scents complimented each other. 30

She dropped the blanket, letting it fall to the expensively tiled floor, she dropped her clothes and turned the water on (both shower heads) as hot as she could stand it. She pulled a towel from the closet in the hallway- embroidered with her initials in silk. Her fingers slid over the stitching, and then, naked, she returned to the bathroom to step under the hot spray of water.31

White tiles with tiny, azure blue flowers handpainted on every single one lined the shower stall. Double shower heads sprayed hot water on her both at her back and at her front- green ran down the drain in the center of it all.   32

And between the spray of the water and the running of water down the drain was a silence so whole and healing that she wished the moment of purity could go on forever; because there could never be anything so perfect as that moment- hot water to scald away the sins, the sound of running water to help forget the sins, the sound of the drain to remind that even when it's terrible, even when it's horrible, it will always fall away. And the silence will always heal, even if it's only for a moment, and that moment will stretch on in memory forever, when there was nothing but the heavy silence and the running water to make her feel whole for the first time. To make her feel perfect and to have that one feeling be enough.33

She rubbed soap over her skin, shampoo into her hair and then conditioner, and the motions were so automatic they were soothing, they were so common place and normal they felt good, filled her with a warm rush. She turned off the water, dripping, wringing out her now honey-colored hair. She reached for the soft cotton towel, felt the silk embroidery and unfolded it, rubbing herself dry.34

When she climbed between the clean, fresh smelling white sheets of her bed, she felt so completely healed. She felt alright, scoured clean and ready for whatever would come next. She shifted against the pillow, yawning. She looked around the room- softly pink rosebuds bordered the ceiling, offset by the starkness of walls that were covered by paintings and certificates. The window that was just now allowing sunlight to spill through and warm her room, the off-pink drapes that matched the carpet. The cherry wood dresser and bed. It was all so uniform, so typical, and yet it was hers. She breathed in the smell of her room, and fell asleep to the whisper of an air conditioner as it pushed chilled and recycled air into her room yet again.35