A s s i g n m e n t T w o
H o l y W a t e r
I am no great reader, but Sarah once told me something her favourite poet, Sylvia Plath, said. “There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.” I have never believed anything to be truer in all my life.
We had been dating for two months and I was starting to think Sarah would never let me truly know her. In all our conversations there was always a pause – only for the smallest of seconds – a moment of calculation and revision. She frustrated me to my core, but I frustrated myself even more, because I was falling for her, hopelessly. All I wanted was for her to open up, to let me in.
Sometimes she would forget and let her guard slip. Laugh too hard at a bad joke, reveal some story from her past, mention an old boyfriend. Then she’d have this moment, it was always the same. She’d look away and the connection would be gone. She’d block me out again with a cool, uncomprimising smile.
When I confined in my friends, they asked me why I carried on seeing her. You’ll only get hurt. Get out now, they said. But I was in too deep. Those connections, those fleeting moments, I was addicted. I wanted to peel back her layers. I wanted her to love me more than anything.
Then one day she changed. I don’t know what caused it. I haven’t asked her to this day.
We had been to the local book store and she’d been telling me about her favourite writers. She spoke of them like her closest friends and her voice was so warm. I could have listened to her for hours.
Afterwards, in the crisp afternoon air, I’d gone to say goodbye, like always. But she asked me to come back to her apartment before I could. I was so taken aback that I was silent. She began to retract it. Sorry, you probably have things to do; she was turning away. No, I’d love to. Honestly.
So we walked back together, hand in hand. I kept expecting her to change her mind, to make some excuse and delay. But she didn’t.
When we arrived at her apartment, it smelled exactly how I imagined. Old books and coffee. She told me to sit on the sofa and handed me the remote. I tried to focus on the TV and not watch her as she walked around, disappearing behind doors.
After twenty excruciating minutes she walked in front of me and held out her hand. I took it without questioning and followed her down the hallway. We went through the door at the end.
Behind it was the bathroom. The tub was full and illuminated only by candles. She looked over her shoulder at me at and slid her dress straps from her shoulders. She loosened the fabric and allowed it to fall to the floor.
I realised then that I’d never seen her naked before, not properly. She would always dress quickly after s*x. We never cuddled.
I couldn’t help but stare. She was so beautiful. I told her that she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She laughed and began to undress me. She climbed into the tub first and I angled myself around her.
It was too small for two people and the taps dug into my back and my skin burned in the hot of the water but I dared not move. The moment seemed too fragile. Her eyes were closed and she was motionless apart from the rise and fall of her chest.
I carefully reached out, ran my hand across her shoulders, like two pilgrims ready to worship. Her skin was pale, made up of freckles and stretch marks, perfectly placed. A tapestry - rich, detailed, so full of life. I kissed myself onto it and held her close, breathing in the silence and the scented air.
Afterwards, when the plug was pulled, and the holy water had drained away, she was different. I could finally know her. The bath was something more to me, to us, after that afternoon. It became our holy land. We visited it every Sunday afterwards, without fail.
Until Sarah left for college, that is.
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