I hear the toilet flush, and a few seconds later, Adam comes around the corner to where I'm frying an egg. He looks thoughtful, and I can tell he's waiting for me to ask him what he's thinking.
"Did you wash your hands?" I ask, instead.
He retreats back around the corner, and I hear the bathroom faucet.
About a minute later, the scene repeats itself, except Adam's hands are wet and I have a freshly fried egg on a plate.
"So what's going on?" I ask, taking a bite.
"How many eggs do you think we've flushed down the toilet?" he asks, casting a glance behind him, toward the bathroom.
"What?" I ask, and ridiculously check my plate for the egg I know is still there. "None. Why? Are you flushing eggs down the toilet?"
"It wouldn't have been on purpose," he says.
"Explain to me," I say, "exactly how you can accidentally flush eggs down the toilet."
"If, you know, they were growing inside the poo. And you didn't know."
"Oh," I say. "Like parasites. Gross."
"How many?" He asks again.
"I don't know," I say, shoveling the last bits of egg into my mouth, eager to finish eating before the conversation steals my appetite. "Not many, I hope. Could be hundreds, though, the way you eat."
Turning on the kitchen faucet, I run my empty plate under the stream, watching the strings of uneaten yolk slip into the drain.
When I finish, Adam is staring at a point just over my left shoulder, lost in thought.
"What's bothering you?" I ask.
"Would it count as murder, then? To drown them?" he asks.
"No," I say, setting my plate in the sink. "No, you get a free pass with things that eat feces. Kill away."
"That's..." Adam starts to say, but is interrupted by gurgled shriek coming from elsewhere in the house.
"What was that?" I ask, and he immediately darts away in the direction of the bathroom.
There is a sound like a dolphin sustaining a severe head injury, and the toilet flushes. Another sound like two or three screams layered upon one another, and then another flush.
"Adam?" I call. "You okay?"
I hear a groan, and the toilet flushes yet again.
Reluctantly, I walk to the bathrom, the sound of soft grunts and splashes getting louder as I approach.
The door is open when I get there, Adam on his knees in front of the toilet, his right hand shoved into the main drain of the bowl up to his wrist.
The water is tinted pink and darkening red from long open wounds on Adam's forearm.
"Adam?" I say, and he looks up at me, his face red with exertion.
"It's okay," he gasps, looking back at the bowl.
"What happened?" I ask, more than a little disturbed.
He pulls a mangled hand slowly from the pipe at the base of the bowl, watching it carefully.
"It's gone," he says, pulling his hand fully from the bowl.
"What is gone?" I ask.
He just stares at the dark hole at the bottom of the bowl, his hand at this side, dripping blood and toilet water on the floor. "It's okay," I hear him whisper. "I've got a free pass," he mutters. "A free pass."
"Did you wash your hands?" I ask, instead.
He retreats back around the corner, and I hear the bathroom faucet.
About a minute later, the scene repeats itself, except Adam's hands are wet and I have a freshly fried egg on a plate.
"So what's going on?" I ask, taking a bite.
"How many eggs do you think we've flushed down the toilet?" he asks, casting a glance behind him, toward the bathroom.
"What?" I ask, and ridiculously check my plate for the egg I know is still there. "None. Why? Are you flushing eggs down the toilet?"
"It wouldn't have been on purpose," he says.
"Explain to me," I say, "exactly how you can accidentally flush eggs down the toilet."
"If, you know, they were growing inside the poo. And you didn't know."
"Oh," I say. "Like parasites. Gross."
"How many?" He asks again.
"I don't know," I say, shoveling the last bits of egg into my mouth, eager to finish eating before the conversation steals my appetite. "Not many, I hope. Could be hundreds, though, the way you eat."
Turning on the kitchen faucet, I run my empty plate under the stream, watching the strings of uneaten yolk slip into the drain.
When I finish, Adam is staring at a point just over my left shoulder, lost in thought.
"What's bothering you?" I ask.
"Would it count as murder, then? To drown them?" he asks.
"No," I say, setting my plate in the sink. "No, you get a free pass with things that eat feces. Kill away."
"That's..." Adam starts to say, but is interrupted by gurgled shriek coming from elsewhere in the house.
"What was that?" I ask, and he immediately darts away in the direction of the bathroom.
There is a sound like a dolphin sustaining a severe head injury, and the toilet flushes. Another sound like two or three screams layered upon one another, and then another flush.
"Adam?" I call. "You okay?"
I hear a groan, and the toilet flushes yet again.
Reluctantly, I walk to the bathrom, the sound of soft grunts and splashes getting louder as I approach.
The door is open when I get there, Adam on his knees in front of the toilet, his right hand shoved into the main drain of the bowl up to his wrist.
The water is tinted pink and darkening red from long open wounds on Adam's forearm.
"Adam?" I say, and he looks up at me, his face red with exertion.
"It's okay," he gasps, looking back at the bowl.
"What happened?" I ask, more than a little disturbed.
He pulls a mangled hand slowly from the pipe at the base of the bowl, watching it carefully.
"It's gone," he says, pulling his hand fully from the bowl.
"What is gone?" I ask.
He just stares at the dark hole at the bottom of the bowl, his hand at this side, dripping blood and toilet water on the floor. "It's okay," I hear him whisper. "I've got a free pass," he mutters. "A free pass."
More bathroom humor. yay.
Posted by: Enna Isilee | December 10, 2007 at 05:53 PM
Ditto.
Posted by: Q | December 10, 2007 at 08:25 PM
More than a little disturbed, like the narrator.
Posted by: cuileann | December 11, 2007 at 11:51 AM
Oh. Wow.
Wow.
Posted by: Bohae | January 03, 2008 at 02:05 AM