Chores | Ica Mendoza

The ridges on the sides of the shampoo bottle sinks further into her fingers as she tightens her grip. Moving her hands down the bottle, she feels the moisture from her palms clinging onto the plastic. Her thumb parts with her forefinger, navigating as the bottle widens, giving itself a waist. She examines the label: large blocked letters, and under it, a picture of a man. She places the bottle in the basket.

He pushes downward, his hands gripping the headboard. It was as if it was willing him to go on. He moves his hands to her breasts, his palms lay prints of moisture. Using her fingers she traces his back, his buttocks. She could not find warmth in the contours of his body. She looked at his closed eyelids.

In varying strokes, he guides the cloth along the vehicle’s body. Rubbing in a quick, circular motion, he works the damp fabric onto the windshield. He concentrates on his reflection on the side mirror afterwards. In his peripheral version he also saw his reflection on the windows.

First published in 2011 by the Paper Monster Press in the S/Trip-Hop Issue


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