topless car wash.


This afternoon I walked in my house and quickly tore off my clothes. I changed into a pair of old running shorts and a too-small top and filled a bucket with soapy water. Two sponges in hand, I lugged the bucket to my front yard uncoiled the hose and sprayed myself and my car with the cool, fresh water. Spring may just be starting elsewhere but it’s already been summer here since hurricane season. And the birds that live in the tree above my parking space don’t care that every berry they drop on the hood of my car, pre-digested or just clumsily mishandled, makes me gag everytime I get into it.

I managed to make it halfway through the wash without getting hollered at — then people started to come home from work. I happened to be bending over to clean the wheels just as some teenaged boys in a black sport’s car sped down my block. I’m not sure why, but I still blush red every time I get whistled at. There’s something so primitive about hearing this uninhibited animal-like mating call. The boys couldn’t have been older than 17, but they made me horny as hell.

My initial smile quickly faded as my calves cramped from me standing on toe in an attempt to reach the middle of the roof of the sedan. Frustrated, I slapped the rag against the metal, hoping enertia might stretch the fibers long enough to hit the 3 inch strip down the midlle (incidentally, the dirtiest part of the car). I remembered washing a similar car as a little kid. Back then, at only a third of my current height, I had no problem cleaning the roof. Instead of coating myself in filthy water with every whack of the rag, I’d simply climb up the hood, sit on the roof, and scrub off every last spot of pollen.

I can’t decide whether life gets harder because I’m less imaginative or because more hurdles scatter my path. When I was a child, things were lighter (and so was I) and solutions never seemed as far away as they do these days. Then again, solutions I reached were far more creative than they ever are these days. More and more often, things end in futile attempts to grasp at something too far above my head, and instead of fearlessly climbing on shelves and hanging from a curtain balance, I stubbornly sit beneath it with crossed legs and list reasons I can’t.

Luckily, nothing is hanging to far above me right now. Nothing’s so out of reach that I can’t swat at it on tiptoe and just barely but adequately tip it off the ledge and into my hands. Now, if only I can remind myself of how it feels to hold that something in my hand the next time I can’t quite reach.

One Response to “topless car wash.”

  1. when car washing, i just use a high pressure cleaner and my own hands to clean off those hardened dirt:;’

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