I’ve always hated my shower. Maybe it’s just the model I have. I’ve too often pushed down on the little pin-looking button of the shower. I guess I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve done so. Well, that’s pretty much equivalent to the number of showers I’ve taken. It’s just always such a hassle to bend over and reach for the irritatingly tiny button just to let out the little water that’s left inside the faucet. If I’m just the slightest bit lazy and decide to skip my so-called daily stooping exercise, then the next day’s shower will end up with shockingly cold water pouring out of the shower head with little warning. And my yelp of torment and annoyance, of course.
Even after I push the button down, I feel the need to stand here and watch the water flow out with a bizarre kind of satisfaction. I mean, if I had to use up all of that energy, I might as well witness the fruit of my hard work right? So I patiently wait and watch the water come out of the faucet. At first it’s a steady trickle of water. The velvety stream glides its way into the drain with little effort, as if it was teleported from up the faucet to the great convolutions of the plumbing system within a split second. Then suddenly, it happens. The silky flow turns to drips. The dreaded drips.
The booming reverberations of the water hitting the drain echo in the entire bathroom. They have that special timbre about them. I feel the tiniest vibration on the tips of my toes as each drop reaches the surface of the tub. They keep going; one plop after the one. Agonizingly slowly. One, two, three…drip. One, two, three…drip. Onee, twoo, three…drip.
It’s pointless to stand here watching the water drip over and over again. Maybe if I stand here, the little drops of water will descend a bit faster. Maybe if I stare at it long enough, each dribble of water will feel embarrassed that it’s not fast enough for my standards. I mean, couldn’t it be like an oblivious race? Amid the rush of unaware competitors, each splash of water tries to make it to the bottom in the fastest time possible. To win the race.
But of course, these are my delusional musings. My attempts at prodding the droplets are futile and there is no such thing as the “oblivious race.” The water merely falls because of gravity. But I still like to suppose that it’s a competition to keep things interesting, I guess. Though the pedantic rhythm of water was at first obnoxious, now it’s almost hypnotic. Oneeee, twoooo, threeee….drip.
The droplets seem reluctant as if their lives will end if they lose grasp of the faucet head. They hold onto the nozzle with all that they have and wobble around a few times before finally giving in to the inevitable force of gravity. Then they dive in silent defeat until the dull thud of their death hits the ground again. I watch these last few drops strive to fight back.
Then it stops. The last unwilling droplet plummets to the ground. The lifeless drips have disappeared. The sudden silence is almost too much to bear. From the first tingle of irritation to the remorse that I now feel, it has only been one minute. I’ve witnessed happy thrill-seekers plunging straight into the darkness of the drain and resistant conservatives clinging on to their dear lives. I’ve witnessed unspoken rivalry unfold between contenders. I’ve witnessed lives slip away right in front of me.
I unexpectedly feel an attachment to the water. Because of me, everything is finally down the drain. And so I wait until tomorrow to experience it all again.
