Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2002-12-22 11:02 am
azurelunatic) wrote2002-12-22 11:02 am
Entry tags:
"Aftermaths" (with all due apologies to Lois McMaster Bujold)
Joshua woke up early the morning after the Yule party but not, he saw, as early as one of the guests that had stayed over. He could hear the quiet noises in the living room. He wandered out, new Playstation 2 game in hand, still wearing his pajama pants, and watched her, slim and efficient, walking an ever-widening search pattern around the living room and kitchen, collecting plates and cups and depositing them in the sink with dish-gloved hands.
He sat down in the chair in front of the entertainment center, flipping through the options in the game, idly watching her as she tidied. "Hi, I'm Josh," he said, on one of her trips past.
"I'm Rose Davidson," she replied, straightening the cushions on the couch, and laying the throw-rug straight.
He wandered into the kitchen after her, and watched her scrub the party dishes to a semblance of clean, stacking them in the dishwasher. One by one under her pink rubber-clad fingertips, the heap of plates with crusted-on dip and mugs with coffee rings disappeared into the dishwasher until the sink was empty. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.
"It's interesting," she said. "People at parties don't always think of the morning after, the way the house will look after the music shuts off and the lights come on, after all the fun's been put away."
"But why the dishes?"
"I like, I suppose, the idea of taking something grimy, and making it come out sparkling clean. A party is something so ephemeral, just like gunk on dishes..." She sighed, put the last saucer in the dishwasher, and stripped off her gloves. "Where's the detergent?" she asked. He showed her, and she measured it out and started up the dishwasher, then walked out of the kitchen.
Josh watched as she took one last stroll around the living room, looking under chairs, in corners, picking up the last few stray bits of trash. She bent over and fished something out from behind an end table. He followed her to the kitchen again, and took a look at the thing she was washing, not bothering with the gloves.
"Yuck!" he cried out, looking at the dried, lumpy, tan substance all over the plastic bowl. "You're a goddamn obsessive-compulsive coprophiliac!"
She turned off the water and looked up at him. "What an interesting way to look at the world you must have," she said, and bent her head back to scrubbing with the sponge.
As he turned to leave, his eye caught on the bowl's lid, lying on the counter, and the name written in bold black marker on a strip of tape. R. Davidson. "You brought that," he said, walking back into the kitchen. "What was in there?"
"Hummus," she said, still scrubbing. "My husband's famous bean dip."
"Can I help?" he asked shyly.
Rose handed him a sponge, and carefully, determinedly, they scrubbed together at the last evidence of last night's party.
He sat down in the chair in front of the entertainment center, flipping through the options in the game, idly watching her as she tidied. "Hi, I'm Josh," he said, on one of her trips past.
"I'm Rose Davidson," she replied, straightening the cushions on the couch, and laying the throw-rug straight.
He wandered into the kitchen after her, and watched her scrub the party dishes to a semblance of clean, stacking them in the dishwasher. One by one under her pink rubber-clad fingertips, the heap of plates with crusted-on dip and mugs with coffee rings disappeared into the dishwasher until the sink was empty. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.
"It's interesting," she said. "People at parties don't always think of the morning after, the way the house will look after the music shuts off and the lights come on, after all the fun's been put away."
"But why the dishes?"
"I like, I suppose, the idea of taking something grimy, and making it come out sparkling clean. A party is something so ephemeral, just like gunk on dishes..." She sighed, put the last saucer in the dishwasher, and stripped off her gloves. "Where's the detergent?" she asked. He showed her, and she measured it out and started up the dishwasher, then walked out of the kitchen.
Josh watched as she took one last stroll around the living room, looking under chairs, in corners, picking up the last few stray bits of trash. She bent over and fished something out from behind an end table. He followed her to the kitchen again, and took a look at the thing she was washing, not bothering with the gloves.
"Yuck!" he cried out, looking at the dried, lumpy, tan substance all over the plastic bowl. "You're a goddamn obsessive-compulsive coprophiliac!"
She turned off the water and looked up at him. "What an interesting way to look at the world you must have," she said, and bent her head back to scrubbing with the sponge.
As he turned to leave, his eye caught on the bowl's lid, lying on the counter, and the name written in bold black marker on a strip of tape. R. Davidson. "You brought that," he said, walking back into the kitchen. "What was in there?"
"Hummus," she said, still scrubbing. "My husband's famous bean dip."
"Can I help?" he asked shyly.
Rose handed him a sponge, and carefully, determinedly, they scrubbed together at the last evidence of last night's party.
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