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Authors: Stephan Talty
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about the hardest thing on earth to keep clean. The pebbly surface of the bottom seemed to grip the dirt, and her mother hated dirt. Martha was beginning to think that her mother had OCD or something. She couldn’t stand to see a drop of maple syrup on the counter or a streak of dirt—plain, normal old dirt—in the bathroom. She’d even been rehanging the clothes in Martha’s closet so that they looked perfect.
The woman needed a vacation, or a boyfriend. A boyfriend would bemore fun. Maybe she could go to his house and straighten the clothes in
his
closets and give Martha a break.
Martha flicked on the bathroom light, sighed deeply at the sight of the dingy tub floor, then ducked down to the cabinet under the sink and found the Comet. Her mother would use only Comet, even though Martha told her the spray-and-wait cleaners worked just as well. She peeled back the label and breathed in. It was like sniffing glue, that first rush.
The pseudo-high lasted about ten seconds, then the smell began to turn her stomach. Martha turned back, rooted under the sink for a scrubbing brush, found one beneath a box of tampons, and turned on the bath tap, soaking the sponge as she sprinkled the Comet liberally across the tub’s floor.
Martha heard something, like a muffled shout. She paused for a second, but there was only silence and the wind rattling the electricity wires that attached to the house. She bent down and started to scrub.
She worked the brush vigorously, determined to get the cleaning done fast. The sides were easy but soon she was despairing at the ridges between the tiny bumps. Her triceps muscle began to ache, and the tendons in her wrist soon followed. She switched the brush to the other hand with a sigh.
Damn, damn, damn this tub, she thought.
She heard the sound again. Was someone shouting?
Martha spritzed the tub with water through her hand, spraying it to get the foamy residue, the color of sea foam, down the drain. She paused. That sound again. An echo of an echo.
She turned off the water and cocked her head.
The noise, now clearer. It was a dog barking.
“Oh, that bitch,” Martha said out loud. She pulled a towel from the rack, rubbed her hands on it quickly, and walked toward the stairs.
“Rufus?” she called out, her voice charged with concern.
Rufus was her dog and he was afraid of the dark. He literally shook when you put him in the closet for ten seconds. Any longer than that he would turn into a writhing ball of terror. It was
unconscionable
to put him in a dark place. But she heard the dog’s muffled barking,which could only mean one thing: her mother had put Rufus in the basement again.
Martha charged down the stairs, whipped around and headed for the kitchen. “Damnherdamnherdamn—”
She slid into the kitchen and stopped. The sound was only slightly louder in here. Still an echo. Still far away. Was Rufus trapped down near the hot water boiler?
“Ruf—” she said, yanking back the basement door. A clammy smell came wafting up toward her, and she peered into the darkness framed by the door. She felt a small tremor of fear. The basement had always repulsed her. It was like some kind of tunnel to the middle of the earth. She was always afraid things were going to crawl up into the darkness through a pipe, giant earthworms or eyeless slugs. She knew it was ridiculous, but it didn’t stop the feelings.
The sound again, behind her. The barking wasn’t coming from down here. Rufus was outside.
She heard her phone buzz in her schoolbag. Mom, for sure, wanting to check on the progress of the tub. God, that woman.
She went to the back door and opened it and looked out over their enormous, overgrown backyard. Rufus had probably caught himself on the fence again, trying to shimmy underneath the chain link and catch one of the skinny rabbits that lived in the brush. His barking, though, was … hysterical. Nonstop.
“Rufus!” she called and clambered down the steps, jogging lightly
The woman needed a vacation, or a boyfriend. A boyfriend would bemore fun. Maybe she could go to his house and straighten the clothes in
his
closets and give Martha a break.
Martha flicked on the bathroom light, sighed deeply at the sight of the dingy tub floor, then ducked down to the cabinet under the sink and found the Comet. Her mother would use only Comet, even though Martha told her the spray-and-wait cleaners worked just as well. She peeled back the label and breathed in. It was like sniffing glue, that first rush.
The pseudo-high lasted about ten seconds, then the smell began to turn her stomach. Martha turned back, rooted under the sink for a scrubbing brush, found one beneath a box of tampons, and turned on the bath tap, soaking the sponge as she sprinkled the Comet liberally across the tub’s floor.
Martha heard something, like a muffled shout. She paused for a second, but there was only silence and the wind rattling the electricity wires that attached to the house. She bent down and started to scrub.
She worked the brush vigorously, determined to get the cleaning done fast. The sides were easy but soon she was despairing at the ridges between the tiny bumps. Her triceps muscle began to ache, and the tendons in her wrist soon followed. She switched the brush to the other hand with a sigh.
Damn, damn, damn this tub, she thought.
She heard the sound again. Was someone shouting?
Martha spritzed the tub with water through her hand, spraying it to get the foamy residue, the color of sea foam, down the drain. She paused. That sound again. An echo of an echo.
She turned off the water and cocked her head.
The noise, now clearer. It was a dog barking.
“Oh, that bitch,” Martha said out loud. She pulled a towel from the rack, rubbed her hands on it quickly, and walked toward the stairs.
“Rufus?” she called out, her voice charged with concern.
Rufus was her dog and he was afraid of the dark. He literally shook when you put him in the closet for ten seconds. Any longer than that he would turn into a writhing ball of terror. It was
unconscionable
to put him in a dark place. But she heard the dog’s muffled barking,which could only mean one thing: her mother had put Rufus in the basement again.
Martha charged down the stairs, whipped around and headed for the kitchen. “Damnherdamnherdamn—”
She slid into the kitchen and stopped. The sound was only slightly louder in here. Still an echo. Still far away. Was Rufus trapped down near the hot water boiler?
“Ruf—” she said, yanking back the basement door. A clammy smell came wafting up toward her, and she peered into the darkness framed by the door. She felt a small tremor of fear. The basement had always repulsed her. It was like some kind of tunnel to the middle of the earth. She was always afraid things were going to crawl up into the darkness through a pipe, giant earthworms or eyeless slugs. She knew it was ridiculous, but it didn’t stop the feelings.
The sound again, behind her. The barking wasn’t coming from down here. Rufus was outside.
She heard her phone buzz in her schoolbag. Mom, for sure, wanting to check on the progress of the tub. God, that woman.
She went to the back door and opened it and looked out over their enormous, overgrown backyard. Rufus had probably caught himself on the fence again, trying to shimmy underneath the chain link and catch one of the skinny rabbits that lived in the brush. His barking, though, was … hysterical. Nonstop.
“Rufus!” she called and clambered down the steps, jogging lightly
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