Working Class Struggle

January 2, 2018
By , Sunnyvale, CA
Hazy air and musty walls, even though they were furnished a mere year and a half ago, surround a desk littered with papers and phone calls that were painfully dragged on for much longer than desired. But perhaps what took up the most space in this room after an impulsive buy recently at the local IKEA was an oblong, pearly white bathtub. Shaped like a lima bean, the build of the tub could perfectly cradle her legs and the small of her back as she precisely folded each paper rendered irrelevant into cranes of different sizes. Interview forms, electric bills, and lousy paychecks grew wings and glided away, away from her life, on the surface of the soapy water. And though her original motive was to cleanse herself and feel refreshed, her fickle character interfered and resulted in a fully clothed young adult watching the fabric of her shirt gradually transform to a see through material as she sat submerged in the soothing water. So the paper cranes swam through the warm currents and navigated around clusters of bubbles, towards the opposite end of the bathtub. She reached over the side of the tub to pick up a glass bottle of Budweiser, vigorously shook, and popped the top off. It flipped in the air, splashed in the bathwater, and drifted to the bottom of the tub. Some of the effervescent liquid too dramatically left the constraints of the bottle and encroached onto the sides and onto her fingers. With her tongue, she lapped up the bubbles and felt them pop and sizzle. Then, she continued with tilting her head back and downing the whole beer bottle in seconds, her adam’s apple and shoulders subtly undulating with each gulp of the bittersweet substance. Salvation at last, she thought. This was the culmination of the day, where everything pleasant and everything unpleasant taken in reached a peak before it seemingly seeped straight out of her skin. When the bottle finished, she realized her shoulders pained as she took a deep breath, so she bent her knees and allowed the whole of her back to touch the water. She laid there, amongst the swimming cranes and bubbles and the bottle cap and now a bobbing beer bottle, the clothes once clinging to her skin now emerging on the surface. And she continued to lay in her little constructed ecosystem inside the office of her house under a blanket of fairly still air for as long as she wasn’t expected to be achieving anything or carrying out tedious tasks she much rather wouldn’t, until the calming and promising hours of the night passed.





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