58.

I fiddle with the cabinet, desperately looking for a latch. Like a dog clawing and scrapping at the door they'll never get open. I'm about to give up when I put some pressure on the door and it swings open. I'm met with disappointment. No little orange bottles filled with hope and day dreams. Wake up sleepy Jean. Nothing but band-aids, tooth paste, and tampons greet me. I close the door and see my reflection in the mirror again and I wanna crash my fists into it. I snarl at myself and spit at the glass. My liquid rage lands right on my mirrored cheek. It slowly starts to drip down as I turn to get in the shower. It's one of those tub/shower combo's. I turn the knob and let the water run for a minute before I pull the little tab that switches it from tub faucet to shower head. I test the water with my hand and turn the knob back a little. Too hot. Never know how a shower is gonna be. All different. I step in and feel the sudden stinging of countless beads of water hit my body. I scrub away the filth with whatever fruit flavored body wash shit I find. I wash my hair with some more fruity flavored garbage, stuff that smells more like candy than soap. I finish and turn the water off. I step out and the air feels freezing on my skin. I hate that about showers, one second you're warm and safe. The next you're plunged out into the cold, naked and scared. Like fresh babes cast forth suddenly from their once safe womb. I grab a towel off the rack and dry myself. I rub my head and for a second I smell something sweet. This must be her towel. I breathe deep and neatly unwhirl her towel from my body. I carefully fold it and gently place it back on the rack. I grab another towel and it feels ruff and crusty. I know it's the kids immediately. I act swiftly as to remove this Brillo pad as quickly as possible from my skin. I slap the clothes onto my still wet new born back. The hot water steamed the mirror up but I can still see my spit drip down. I wipe it up the kid's towel and toss it unto the rack. I step out into the hallway and hear music playing. Poppy new shit. I leave wet foot prints on the old wood floor. Each print smaller and lighter than the last.