She sat looking at the solitary bathroom door. It had a man and a woman’s stick figures drawn on a plaque.
“It means a unisex bathroom.” he had said in his educating tone which he used when telling her something new about America. They had arrived here just a few days ago after getting married in India. Though he had lived here a few years now.
“Ok.” She acknowledged without completely understanding the concept. What did unisex mean?
“It means a person of any sex can go in there.” he had followed up.
“Oh!” She smiled in open admission that she hadn’t known.
“I don’t suppose you thought it was for funny business.” He winked and laughed causing her to blush. But she liked his silly naughty jokes. And now that they were together and apart from all others, it felt very intimate to be able to talk thus. But she didn’t think all this in that brief moment - just felt happy without really reasoning it out.
“Do you need to go?” He asked her politely - 'Ladies first' and all that - but she knew that he needed to go badly and had been looking for a restroom for some time now.
“No. You go ahead. I’ll go after you.”
“Unless you want to go with me.” And he winked again. This time she just smiled without wanting to.
He was back within a few seconds and appeared excited.
“The door has no latch!” He exclaimed with irritation. “One bathroom and a non functional one at that!”
“Now what ? Should we look for another … ?” She was trying to think of a solution for him.
“I don’t know where else we may find another. We already paid for stuff here to use the customers’ only restroom.” He was clearly in distress, sweating a little.
“You go inside. I’ll wait right outside.” She thought the sentence sounded a little odd with ‘side’ used twice.
“Ok!” He accepted readily. “But what of the bags?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll manage. Go.” She smiled to reassure him and he finally rushed in.
She picked up the two bags - with a bottle of water, some pepsi, potato chips and some other snacks. The bags were heavy. She also carried the camera bag - his prized Nikon and another bag for the camcorder.
As a rule he never let her carry any heavy bags - it was his way of being nice - though it tried her patience at times when it seemed like an odd formality. She had tried hinting at it, but felt that she couldn’t yet be direct to him. In her thinking, that comfortable ground was still a little ways off - where they could talk openly and say what was on their mind. But they were on their way to that ground - and that made her smile.
She began reminiscing of their wedding - the chaos of it all. The long week leading up to the wedding, that she had spent with her friends and cousins in the large rented house - alternately happy, and sad - talking late into the nights, listening to old favorite music cassettes in her brother’s beat up two-in-one radio and cassette player. She smiled wistfully at the new memories she had collected and many old ones she had dusted off in that one week. She knew that this line of thought inevitably would lead to missing her parents and she would silently cry. If he saw her crying, it would make him sad also as to him, her crying meant she wasn't happy with him. Life has to be black and white correct? She tried to slow that train of thoughts down.
The weight of the bags and her muscles aching a little in holding up everything brought her back to the present, and she was glad for it. She began looking around anew. She stood in a dimly lit large hallway with a few racks of brochures and other advertisements related to cars, hotels, real-estate. America seemed to waste so much paper she rued.
A lady sauntered over but seeing her standing outside the bathroom, she smiled and then walked away. And this posed a fresh problem for her.
What exact words would she use to dissuade someone who tried to enter the bathroom? As long as she could remember, she had always wanted to figure out beforehand what words she would use to say something - whether it was to open a phone conversation, or to reply to a question she expected to be asked. It wasn’t that she was tongue tied when she didn’t think ahead - it usually worked out just fine. But when she did get it in her head that she had to figure out the words, she really had to - or she simply knew she would make an utter fool of herself. Embarrassment scared her more than physical pain.
“Sorry, but the room is occupied.” Would this be sufficient? But how does she know it’s occupied and by who? And why is she sorry anyway? Not like she’s the one occupying it.
“My husband’s in there. Please wait.” Is that too much information. Who cares about her relationship with the bathroom’s occupant? And, “please wait” sounds like something a bathroom attendant might request.
She had to shift the bags around a little. And why was she holding everything up. “Stop working against gravity” she told herself and let her arms with the bags hang all the way down. The mistake was felt immediately - the muscles of her arms, hurting already were now stretched also. Why was he taking so long in there? She hoped he would finish his business quickly and come out soon, sparing her the need to come up with the excuse. But she hadn’t yet heard the flush go off.
“Maybe he could sing in a loud voice while in there.” That made her laugh. That’s how her Uncle would have joked about it. He somehow found humor in every toilet related situation. And the unlockable toilet door was just begging for loud singing - as per any number of Bollywood comedies.
She should just stand right in front of the door. Maybe not entirely in front but a little to the side. So a prospective user can see her and conclude that she is next in line. But if a long queue ensued and she didn’t end up going in after him, it would be a little embarrassing. She’d feel she hadn’t been entirely honest. Maybe she could really go in there just to pretend for a minute, because there was no way she was going to use a bathroom that didn’t lock. Even if a couple of commandos guarded the door.
But now she really needed to put the bags down somewhere. The floor was a little grimy - like it usually is near the restroom of a small gas station. She looked around - there was a small table a little ways off, for people to put their greasy gas-station food while standing to eat. Nobody was using it now and she figured it would be okay to use it just for a bit. If someone needed it, she’d just say “Excuse me” and move her stuff off it.
She looked around to make sure nobody was waiting for the toilet. She strained to hear if there was a sound of flushing or the faucet in there - but couldn’t make anything out. There was a rather loud overhead fan near the bathroom that would drown out any sound.
She looked around again and quickly walked over to that table and with an audible sigh of relief, dumped everything on it. As she was stretching her arms a bit for the muscles to relax, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and noticed the same lady from before taking swift steps towards the toilet. And then to her horror she saw yet another person - a young man walking towards it also form the other side. Both seemed to be converging upon that lone unisex bathroom and seemed in a rush.
She tried to call out “Excuse me!” several times but either she was speaking too softly or it was the noisy fan, but neither person seemed to hear her. She needed to get there and quickly tried to pick up the bags and just then the plastic bag tore open, spilling out the contents with the bottle of pepsi falling to the ground. Within moments she had gone from enjoying a relaxed moment to a frantic scramble.
The duo at the door were still trying to work out who got there first and who should go first.
She couldn’t let that door be opened upon him. More than his embarrassment, she would be mortified at breaking his trust. After all it was she who had offered to stand guard at the door.
No! she couldn’t let that happen. She had to act and she had to act right now. She filled her lungs with air and prepared herself to yell at the top of her voice “Stop please!” when the door opened and out stepped a little girl who ran yelling for her mommy.
“Mom! did you notice how grandma was so intently looking at the bathroom door?” The middle-schooler had unburied his head from a book for the past several minutes and had been intently looking at grandma seated in a wheel-chair across from him.
“Mm-hmm” Said mom busily trying to understand the knitting pattern from the non-circulating library copy of the magazine.
“In fact, just now, it had seemed like she was working up to say something.” he went on.
Now mom looked up at him also and then at grandma and whispered gently and almost sadly, “Some days I feel that too - that she's about to say something. But …”
“Did she talk to me before her Alzheimer’s?” said the boy, very interested now.
“Yes dear! She told you stories … long beautiful stories.” said mom, her eyes misting over.
“I wish I remembered her stories.” Said he softly, and a long silence ensued.
“Time to go home.” Said mom rising up.
Mom pushed the wheelchair while the boy collected the books and followed.
She had felt relief surge through her that nobody had been able to open the door on him, and he had emerged amid the two surprised people arguing to get in. He had looked at her in mock reproof as he amusedly made way between the desperate duo and walked up to her.
Her loud yell-to-be had stayed inside her.
