Fissure

He’s at the door again, knocking. I’m in here again. I was in here the first time he knocked.

He wanted to use my shower. There was some kind of problem with his shower, the water was strange too hard or too much fluoride or the PH balance was all wrong. He had his own bag with shampoos and conditioners and shower gels. The bag had all that stuff. I knew people wouldn’t understand if I let a stranger use my shower so I made up my mind right there to not tell anyone. It would all be between me and the shower guy. He sang in there, seemed refreshed after, pleased, thought the water pressure was good and the temperature control was sensitive. He said he was ready for work, ready for another hard day.

I found this place by accident. Some money rolled behind the book case and instead of just forgetting about it, I mean it wasn’t a lot of money I could easily have lived on without it, I thought I need to get that need to find that money. I moved the bookcase and there was a hole in the wall, completely round and dark. I remember being certain the hole wasn’t there before, I thought that was something I would definitely have noticed. Even with a flashlight in my hand I couldn’t see inside so I put the flashlight in my mouth and climbed through. The light didn’t help inside the hole either, but my hands moved around and it felt like a small room a box room or study with walls and floor and ceiling all curving together, completely smooth when I touched them, no bumps or roughness no friction. I didn’t tell anyone about the hole, not even shower guy. What would I say? A room’s appeared behind my bookcase and I go there all the time?

He came round more and more and each time I’d be in here and each time it took longer and longer to climb out. He always had his bag and now he brought his own towels, said mine were too stiff they didn’t dry him just moved the water around. He brought fabric softener and even a new shower head said it had more directional settings and more control over the width of water. He was interested in details like that. He said the shower head was used by astronauts in space and he was proud then. He never said anything about waiting for me, never complained, but sometimes his face looked like it was thinking about it, his eyes were maybe asking what’s going on why don’t you answer the door why don’t you get a shower and a shave why aren’t you at work. He probably thought he didn’t know me well enough and that was all my private business. Sometimes it looked like his eyes knew about the room but he probably thought that was my private business too.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here this time. I can’t see anymore and when I use my fingers to find the hole there is only smooth so smooth like touching nothing at all. I used to wonder why I like it here. Maybe if my wife had left me it would explain it all or if my parents had just died or a child this would be like a refuge. But none of that has ever happened to me. The people out there the food out there the out there that’s out there is farther and farther away becoming harder and harder to really see. The people the words almost all gone. Shower guy will have to go somewhere else, I can’t hear the knocking anymore, I can’t hear my heartbeat anymore. Soundless, transparent fingers point to long ago nothing.

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