Jealousy 9

Quietly, I emerge from my room, laden with the clothing I am wearing and those I intend to put on. I startle when Laura calls out, “Oh good! You’re up! Hope I didn’t disturb you this morning. Jeremiah is so delicious and it made things so much more fun than usual!” She sighs deeply. “Anyway, what are your plans today?” I can’t see her curly dark brown hair or her slender body dressed in what she calls artist chic fashion. Her tanned legs and florescent pink toes stick above the couch.

I close my eyes and pull my clothing closer to me. I don’t want to talk with Laura. I want to shower and hide in my room for the day. I address my response to the flexing feet. “Not much. A shower followed by a generous helping of me time.” I don’t wait for a response and start walking toward the bathroom.

“Perfect!” she says. Her feet and legs swing down and are immediately replaced by her equally tanned and smiling face propped up on her fore-arms. I stop and smile weakly at her. “Don’t feel you need to entertain me!” she sings. “Go take your shower!” She imitates the shooing motion of a mother trying to move her young children on. I don’t argue and take the escape she has offered, quickly stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

Once the door is locked, I lean against the door and exhale. I am so grateful that she clearly has ideas of her own that don’t include me. Of course, her behavior leads me to believe she wants the apartment this afternoon. Stewing in my room will be more difficult and I need to think of an alternative plan. “All in good time” I remind myself. “First, a relaxing and steamy shower.” I set my clothing down on the toilet seat and go to the wardrobe. I pull out a thick green towel, hanging it on the towel hoop and return to the wardrobe to collect the rest of my supplies. I am going to luxuriate in the shower as long as I can.

I turn the water on and pull the small nickel circle that triggers the cap to slide into place, forcing the water to fall from the shower head in a waterfall. The small bathroom begins to steam up. I let my pajamas fall to the floor. The pile is unsightly, but the call of the falling water outweighs my desire to carefully fold my pajamas and set them aside. I glance at myself in the mirror. And then stay to study it better.

My eyes are hyper color. They shift between blue and green dependent on what I wear. Standing with no clothes on, they appear to be green. They are large and surrounded by thick eyelashes. Most women would kill for them and they are easily my favorite facial feature. I have a small nose which ends with a slight upturn like a ski-lift. I don’t like it, but wouldn’t know how to change it to make it more flattering. My lips are full and fit my face well. Overall, I think I have a pretty face and many men have commented like-wise. Most of them are not even drunk. The soft brown of my hair falls just below my shoulders. It is the ideal length for wearing down and styling easily or pulling up into elegant styles. It is versatile and I love it. It frames my face well and lies beautifully on my collar bones, making my neck seem longer than it really is.

My breasts are modest. I wear a C cup, but don’t fully fill it out. My last boyfriend called them ‘perfectly perky and pleasing’. I hated it then. Now, I think it is a great description. My stomach is flat without the clear lines of defined muscles. My legs are strong and shapely, much like that of a young twenty-something. I have been told that I have a natural dancers frame: strong, delicate, and portraying grace. My skin is early winter pale and healthy. I like my body and am pleased that it takes so little work to maintain. Outside of the typical walking those who live in Chicago do, I don’t have to work at it. I think John would appreciate it. The thought of him seeing me like this makes my eyes open a little wider and my lips to part slightly. I run a hand slowly down the side of my body.

I glance back up to my face and realize that it is obscured by steam. It reminds me that he may never see me in such a vulnerable state. I turn and step into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind me. The water is hot enough to turn my skin red within a few seconds. I should turn it down. I feel the skin of the cat slide off me and some of my self-esteem return. I stand under the water for a long time, until it is barely warm before I start to wash. I take the time to wash and condition my hair, cleanse the pores of my skin, and shave.

The water is cold. Each shiver seems to push out more goose bumps. I turn the water off and reach for the warmth of my towel. I wrap it tightly around myself and walk to the wardrobe once again. I have to remember to wipe down the wardrobe to ensure the moisture doesn’t damage it. I pull out a hand cloth, dry my items and replace them on the shelf that holds my belongings. I grab a dry cream towel and wrap it turban style around my hair. I am beginning to warm up as I reach down and pick up my pajamas. I fold the capris and T-shirt, burying my panties in the middle. I set them carefully on the side of the sink.

Dropping my towel, I avoid the mirror and reach for the lotion. Slowly, I feed my skin the moisture it needs. I let it soak in while I do the same for my face and then pull on the black yoga pants and body skimming long sleeved pink shirt I brought with me. Underneath, I feel sexy in my black panties with a soft pink lace running around the waist and matching bra. I pull my hair up in a simple ‘I Dream of Genie’pony tail at the back of the top of my head. I gather my dirty clothes and towels, dropping them into the hamper in the bottom of the wardrobe.

I unlock the door and slowly open it. I hear Laura humming ‘I’m in the mood for love’ from the couch. The next line plays silently through my mind. ‘Simply because your near me’ and I think of John being near again. I blush this time, fearing that Laura will look up and read my thoughts. I start to walk to my room when she says, “Geesh that took a loooong time. What were you doing? Drowning a cat?”

“Something like that” comes my response in a noncommittal tone. Inside, I think of how accurate that description is. Although Laura is annoying and frequently self-centered, she is the only true friend I have. Others think she is scattered and flighty. I know that is an act. Laura is a great person. She is very kind and incredibly insightful. I wonder if she suspects that the church of my life is crumbling. I remind myself of how often she has come to my rescue and vow to not be so dismissive or hard on her.

“Well, hurry up and put your things away. I brought us a treat. You are going to love it!” It’s just like Laura not to care that I have other plans. Damn the vow!