Tuesday, October 6, 2009

The Bar Bathroom of the Mind.

Tim walked through the friday night crowd. The four beer conversations flying past his ears, loud over the music loaded with spit and enthusiasm. He made a mental note "pay for the next round". This was important, this mattered. He had to ritualistically remind himself of this, not that he was battling a cheapness inherent in his character, but an innocent carelessness that, he had been made aware, was often confused with a less then forthright method of thrift. Four beers, easy enough. Payday had been friday, his rent already paid, his bank account remained comfortably occupied.

He pushed the door to the bathroom open. A man of forty or so politely made his way out of the room as he held the door. The room was empty thank god. No loud conversations or red eyed twenty somethings doing coke in one of the stalls. Unzipping his jeans he approached the urinal. Cock in hand he stood and waited. He could feel the flow begin somewhere anatomically ambiguous he could not assign a name to.

The door creaked open and a wave of noise entered the room, hot a quick. Foot steps clicked a hallow toneless melody against the bathroom floor. He froze.

Something inside him suddenly tightened, clicked off, shut down completely. The stranger saddled up next to him, he could hear the distinct melody of urine on porcelain within seconds. He looked down. Nothing. Not a god damn drop. He mentally cursed his then useless cock and quickly began to summon urine conducive thoughts. Water falls, rivers, rain storms, the ocean lapping against the shore, memories of himself pissing. What could help?

He looked down, still nothing, squat, nada, no flow no go. He quickly formed a plan of action while a melange of beer based urine and axe body spray floated over from man next to him and invaded his seances. He zipped up and made his way to the nearest stall. He closed the door and sat. He sat and he waited. Listening and waiting for sound of a zipper and then the sound of the door.

But something was wrong. He heard a zip, but the foot steps were moving the wrong direction. Those beat up D.C. skate shoes were supposed to be moving towards the door, they were supposed to be LEAVING! But sure enough, they were not. In fact they were pointing right at him from under the stalls door. He froze, his plan was fucked. He contemplated getting up, turning around and pissing into the bowl....perhaps even pissing sitting down.

"Hey!" Came an aggressive cry from right outside the stall.

Shit, he hadn't expected this. Who talks to strangers in bathrooms? He stayed quite and sat, his bladder ready to over-through his minds rule of his body in a biological Cue.


"What?" Tim answered back.

"Come out here!"

"No....I don't want to."

"Get the fuck out here!"

"No, I'm not going to. Im staying in here, I'm....I'm shitting."

He could here the board shorts guy breathing heavy with anger on the other side of the door now.

"Dude, get the fuck out here NOW, or I'm kicking the door in."

Sweat ran down his face as he hugged his knees and cursed his bladder.

"Leave me alone!"

The door began to rattle, he watched white knuckled fingers reaching down towards the stalls latch above.

"Fine, I'm coming out." Tim yelled. The hands retreated back over the door. Tim stood up and opened the door. The boy standing on the other side appeared pale regardless of his Fabutan. His hands shook and he sucked in the bathroom air desperately through his flaring nostrils.

"You think I'm some kind of Fag or something? Huh?!" He demanded through clenched teeth. His hand flue up and Tim suddenly felt the cold bathroom wall embrace the his back. Surprised, He stammered "I don't know what you mean!."

"The second I stood next to you you put your dick back in your pants and hid in that stall. I'm not a fag! Fuck you!"

Genuinely confused now, Tim took a step forward and gathered his thoughts.

"dude, I don't know who you are and I certainly don't think...."

"Who said I was a queer?! That ass hole Mark?! He's the fag!

" Mark?"

"I Knew it!" The boy screamed. His eyes bulging in time with a vein in his forehead. "You listen to Me! He's the one that kissed me! Alright? He's the fag!"

"You.... kissed a guy?"

The boys eyes opened ever wider, blood shot and accusatory. Tim regretted his last statement.

His mouth opened for a second but closed again without a sound. Teeth clenched his arm pulled back swiftly before delivering one fierce blow to the side of Tim's head. His body crumpling as the fist made its brutal contact, he watched the room fall beneath him and found his cheek resting on the cold floor. Spit landed somewhere on the back of his head.

"I am NOT a fag!"

The boy brushed his hands together and opened the door to leave the room. Barely conscious, Tim realized to his horror that he had Finally begun to piss.

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