Bath time for Beatrice

An eyelash, caked in magenta mascara is perched on top of a translucent pink bubble. As the sun began to rise after yet another sleepless night, Beatrice sank deeper into the lukewarm water. She had been soaking in dollar store bubbles for four hours now. She tried wiggling her toes, but they were numb from all the scalding water she had been dumping on them every time she started to get cold. A periodic practice, she thought glumly. She rested her cheek on the cold, bubble-gum colored acrylic. Surprisingly, her wine glass waited next to her untouched. For the first time since she had started dancing, she didn’t want to drink after work. Beatrice closed her eyes. It had been such a terrible night. ‘Beatrice,’ a voice sneered. ‘What kind of name is that? BEAT-RICE. Not exactly a beautiful name, now is it?’ The voice belonged to a man she had met earlier. He’d been a waste of time: drunk, rude, and worst of all, broke, but his words continued to linger. She thought using her real name was smart, especially since Beatrice wasn’t something you heard every day. But no one even believed it was real.

Beatrice sighed and sank deeper into the pink-scented bath water. The birds were chirping, but she ignored her makeshift alarm. She wasn’t ready. Usually her routine consisted of dragging herself out of the tub once she heard the birds. She’d drip water while tripping down the stairs, naked, and collapse into the couch, letting the ancient cushions soak up whatever wetness remained. But not today. Today, Beatrice made a odd observation.

She couldn’t move.

Beatrice frowned. She tried lifting her foot… nothing. How odd, she thought. It was as if she was paralyzed. She attempted to move different parts of her body, but nothing budged, not even her tiny, bloated fingertips. She stared at her frozen body underneath the water, confused. Am I dreaming? She questioned herself cautiously. Or..

‘You’re having an episode again, dear.’ A familiar voice echoed throughout the bathroom. Beatrice jumped. At least, that’s what her body had in mind when she attempted. In her current state, it felt like her soul tried to burst through the top of her skull. But she hadn’t moved. And there she was, sitting calmly on the edge of the tub, sipping tea and smiling.

Her Mother.

Beatrice gasped. You’re not real, she thought frantically. You’re-

‘An element of your imagination, yes.’ Her Mother finished her thought. Her tongue darted from her mouth to catch a droplet of tea trying to escape to the floor. She looked like a lizard. She continued to slurp from a mug that Beatrice had made out of clay when she was ten. The words WORLD’s BEST MOM were barely visible; what used to be a vibrant green had faded to an ugly moss. She stirred her tea thoughtfully,

‘You weren’t expecting to see me, it seems.’

She was right. Beatrice hadn’t experienced any delusional thoughts or hallucinations in years. Ever since her diagnosis, Beatrice had gone through the ringer trying to find a cure for the unwelcome deceased grown-ups who visited her during her darkest hours. Her Mother was no exception.

Are you… Beatrice stopped forming the question in her mind. Must not engage, she told herself. I must—

‘Oh honestly, Beatrice, her Mother sighed. She set down the decaying mug and wiped her hands on her pants as if trying to rid herself of her annoyance. As she smeared her hands on her faded Levi’s, a toxic-green stain came off in her hands.

‘You’re so dramatic sometimes. You might as well talk to me, I’m the only one who understands you, you know.’ Beatrice blinked in frustration. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped in a bathtub with the only person in the world who had expected her to be … More. Her Mother had had high expectations for Beatrice, and her entire life had pushed her to be ALL She could be. So Beatrice had done everything. But it was never enough. It never can be. A life lived through another human being can only end in disappointment.

‘Oh, Sweet Sunshine,’ her Mother murmured. She picked up the cotton candy wig that had been tossed carelessly to the floor. She carefully raked her fingers through the knots, and fingered the man-made ringlets with her manicured (yet un-polished) nails. ‘You’re still… entertaining, I see.’

Once her Mother had discovered what Beatrice did for work, she disappeared. For six years, she had been gone, leaving Beatrice to rot in peace. So why was she here?

‘Well, naturally, I’m here to see you off. She answered casually. ‘What kind of Mother would I be if I wasn’t present at your own Departure?’

‘Departure? What do you mean?’

‘Why… your death, dear. I’m here to guide you to the Other Side.’

For the first time, Beatrice noticed the razor gleaming on her Mother’s neck. It was attached to a necklace made of dental floss and cereal that Beatrice had made for her when she was in Pre-school.

‘I’m… I’m dying?’

‘If you want. The reason you can’t move is because your body has given up. Only your mind remains. Does your mind want to keep living?’

Beatrice blinked. This was a strange hallucination, even for her. Her body did feel eerily peaceful, as if happy to be finished with moving. To just rest. But her mind… her mind felt….her eyelids felt so heavy. She closed her eyes. Thinking was too hard. Her brain began to burn.

‘Let it,’ her Mother whispered. ‘Succumb to the sensation of releasing your mind. Burn your brain away. Free yourself of your pain.’

‘But… why?’ Beatrice managed to gasp. ‘Why now?’ She shook her head and her eyes sprang open. She could move! Energized, she attempted to kick up her leg. Nothing. Only her head could swivel side to side. Her mother frowned.

‘No use fighting it, dear one. There’s nothing left for you in this life. Why suffer for who know’s how many hopeless years, when you can leave it all behind?’ She began to finger the gleaming razor still hanging from her drooping neck.

‘But… I’m not miserable all the time. Won’t it get better?’ Beatrix strained her neck trying to shimmy her shoulders. She began to feel the water tremor. Movement.

‘It will. And then it won’t. It’s your pattern. Tonight, you hit a new low. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to see you suffer anymore.’ The razor flickered. Slowly it began to glow, and Beatrice was reminded of Christmas, the way the lights lit up the roofs on a dark winter evening.

‘All you have to do is lay there. I’ll take care of the rest.’ Her Mother pinched the beautiful, shimmering razor between her fingertips and slowly lowered it to Beatrice’s wrist. Beatrice continued to imagine straining and flexing her entire body, and the water began to shake.

‘It’s time, darling.’

Her Mother pressed the tip of the razor onto her wrist. It was as if she had slammed down a mallet at the County Fair. Beatrice’s arm sprang up, piercing her Mother’s eye with the razor. The water flew up around her; it was as if the razor spearing her pupil was a key opening a lock. Her Mother screamed as the water pushed her back, her eye gushing black blood. Bye Mom, Beatrice thought, dryly. She took a deep breath.

And then, it was only Beatrice, wrapped in a reverse waterfall. She sat in the tub, a Goddess, safe and protected in her pearl-white shell. The water shimmered around her, suspended and flowing, entranced. Beatrice felt as if she was both rising and falling. She smiled to herself.

She was free.