Chapter 2

A dirty toilet was my refuge. I preferred the one in the far stall of one of the bathrooms at work; I always saved it for last. When I had finished all of my duties at work and there was nothing else left to do, I’d hide my things on the cleaning cart and sneak them into the bathroom with me. Once everything was wiped down and the actual work was done, I found myself too comfortable in the solitude to leave and rarely would it be disturbed.

The stall was spacious, big enough to sit down and spread out without being seen from outside the door. More often than not, by the time that I would be ready to leave, scattered papers would find their way across the whole floor of the stall. Days like that were rare, but I could still get a good brainstorm going every once in a while. Other days were more quiet when I could only pull a few vague images from my mind to sketch onto the paper, but nothing to move me forward.

Occasionally I’d find myself without anything, when well of my imagination had run dry and the pages remained blank. My hand would pull the pencil across the page in hopes to conjure some abstract idea that would work itself into a word of genius, only to finally quit upon the realization that there was nothing to the scribbles. There was nothing remotely worthy enough to be seen on the stage, even through countless edits and rewrites.

I’d try not to lose myself in the thoughts, but the voice of inferiority had become strangely familiar. The started as questions that dripped into my conscience. What if you would be stuck here cleaning forever? Ha, that’ll suck. You wouldn’t make it out of Sandhaven that way. You wouldn’t make it out of The Juniper that way. That’ll be your greatest talent, cleaning up after them. And then flowed to a stream. They could replace you in a second, you know. Then where would you go? What if you really would amount to nothing? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even a memory. Soon to be swept away with the sands of time. Soon streaming like a tide. You have no experience. You have no training. No talent. Not particularly good at anything, really. After which, they surged too easily while I still tried to write, and I would have to hide the bareness of the sheets. Times like those were when I’d find myself drawn to the waters that brimmed the porcelain bowl next to me. They were honest and quickly sobered me to the back to the reality of who and where I was in the moment.

But now, the only reality I saw was the knot that began to mount below my hairline. It was still small, but enough to look like a third eye that was forming. And from what I could see with the help of the fluorescent ceiling bulb to my back, the swelling was looking to get worse. Fortunately, the bruising from the black eye had yet to develop.

Getting through the day wouldn’t be too terrible if I could spend most of the time in the bathroom. Usually that wouldn’t be too hard, but now without papers to draw on or a phone to keep my attention, I’d have to spend my time outside of the bathroom. That would present new problems, but I had another hiding spot.

Having acquainted myself with the bulging lump on my forehead, I tried to position the thick black curls of hair over it. Most of them snapped back as I let go, almost wanting to keep the signs of my misfortune on full display. I meticulously pulled and patted, and soon enough the knot was concealed by an awkward mat of hair. That would have to do for now.

I sat back down, gathering myself to plan for departure. A seed of dread hung low in my stomach as I envisioned going out into the theatre. I tried to decide its justification. Although it was a Friday night, there wouldn’t be many people in the theatre. That wasn’t unlike the usual pattern, there hadn’t been too many people in years. In fact, I often wondered how Junie kept the place open with the little revenue coming in. I often wondered the same about Sandhaven itself. It definitely was nothing like it was a couple decades ago, and yet it still seemed to stubbornly hold onto itself as if the its end would never come.

But that wasn’t completely it. I could go days without making contact with anyone in the theatre if I really tried by doing the usual “face down” routine. The real dread came from an additional source. Not only was the phone lost, but everything on it was gone as well. I’d have to work months to make enough to get another one, and probably years to remember all of the ideas that I had created, if ever.

I should have saved it sooner, or at all. I should’ve condensed all the papers and the files and organized them. I should’ve scanned, retyped, redrawn a million times. I should’ve burned it into my memory. I should’ve backed it up every day, or probably every hour. Even with the phone gone, the disjointed pieces of my work would have been safe and together, at least in my memory.

Of course, at that point I would have needed to acknowledge to myself that there was a concerted intention to get them somewhere, that they were actually worth saving. Sure, in reality they weren’t much more than a jumbled group of ideas scribbled into papers that would probably never see the outside of the walls of this stall or my bedroom, but they were out. They were real. They were something that I could use to prove to the forgotten me that there was still hope. There was at least a functional imagination there, though it was cautious. And it was the promise to the older Sol that seeds could be sewn, and possibly that that person might have the satisfaction of seeing them come to life.  

Maybe this was all a sign that it was time to hang it up. It wasn’t really going anywhere, and even it was complete, I probably would’ve found yet another excuse to keep them hidden. It was time to let all these wavering finally die. I wasn’t usually the person to read too much into these situations, but my fortunes had been nagging me to be realistic. It must be the most difficult, inevitable part of the growing up.

Though, it would’ve been amazing to see some of it on stage. The lights would paint the scene over the set that supported it. The performers would speaking my words, adding their own interpretation to the text that spoke to them. It probably wouldn’t have been exactly what I had envisioned, but at least I could have made the suggestions to one of the stage managers, or maybe even Junie herself. From there it could’ve gone somewhere. If she wanted, she could even take it back to New York, to her old connections on Broadway. They might’ve liked it too. But this, could only be if I had managed to gather enough courage and, once again, where the dream had died each time.

My next step was too uncertain to try to predict. Nothing was on the horizon, so far as I could see. The last remnants of my ambition had been used to propel me to this moment. Entertaining the thought of promoting myself beyond my position of “Box Office Associate” to now essentially a janitor, was hard enough. Maybe it was misdirected and foolish, but the hope itself was all I had, and now I had run out.

I stared up to the ceiling light that was due to start flickering any moment, wondering why I felt so comfortable being alone and so stagnate. I couldn’t see myself able unable to move on. The invisible weight around my head held me within the limits of Sandhaven, and this comfortable stall. But it was time to go, and maybe watch a showing or two. I uneasily brought myself to my feet when muffled voices from outside of the door quickly began to grow louder until accompanying a creak of the metal door swinging open.

“...to get you here!” one voice squealed in a high pitched surprised. An abrupt laugh rang out, accompanied by that of another voice as two pairs of sharp footfalls followed the swing of the door. I had almost completely forgot that this was a public restroom and that people were actually invited to come inside to use it, and that it wasn’t my personal spot, though the frequency of its use as a public space by one person was rare, not to mention two.

“I know! I’m so shocked. I really thought you were trying to trick me, but apparently you  were on to something,” the other voice replied. They each sounded to be young, in their early thirties, maybe a few years older than myself, but completely foreign. Their voices missed that tempered, calm Sandhaven rhythm, and instead were carried by a sense of presence, like they were each cultured and been talking about a lot of different things before. They sounded like voices from from far away, maybe farther up the coast. “You have to admit that I wasn’t being difficult for no reason, though.”

“No, you definitely weren’t, I’ll give you that. But not being adventurous enough either!”

“Can you blame me?” the second voice trailed into a mocking tone. I hear the stall on the opposite side of the bathroom creak open and then close to a shut. A small trickle turned heavy into the water. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to clean that up. “This whole place is cute and all, but in the antique shop-kind of way. Like, thrify, I guess.”

“You’re one to be calling anything thrify.”

They both laughed together again until the first voice interjected. “Why was thinking the same exact thing?! It’s a struggle-town. At least this spot is the only part with somewhat acceptable food, also with the only entertainment around. And it turns out to be a dinner theatre, go figure.”

“Right. I mean, it is a little sad, but not that unexpected,” the second voice went on. “No one’s going to put up with those s****y a*s beaches anymore, so why would they come through here?”

The toilet flushed and after a few moments, the door of the stall creaked back open. A few clicks crossed the on the tile floors: high heels. I hadn’t heard that sound in a long time. The faucet came to life and they shared another laugh.

“True. I mean, if they were smart, then they wouldn’t have based their entire economy on cafe’s and antique shops and B&B’s. Sooner or later someone had to have realized that this looked like a Stephen King creation.” They both laughed at that.

I couldn’t guess who these two were or why they had so much to say. From the past few years lingering about the theatre, I had learned the voices of most of the regulars, and most wouldn’t be heard without the lead of alcohol. There had been, however, few to no recent guests that passed through. And these two women sounded like they were from farther away than the occasional few who had the stroke of bad luck to end up in Sandhaven.

“It won’t be like that forever though!” the first woman sang playfully.

“Ugh, right, the reason why you brought me here. Please don’t tell me you and Patrick are thinking moving here…” her voice trailed off. I looked through the crack in the stall to see her standing at the sink. A woman with short, stylish hair stood at the mirror, checking the angles of her face to suddenly break her gaze and stare to her side with wide eyes. “Sarah, stop it. Why?!”

A small uproar  erupted amongst them until the first woman spoke over the other’s protests. “I didn’t say anything! Calm down. Listen! Listen to this. Do you remember Mike, Pat’s brother? The one I set you up with and you went out with a few times, like, a year ago?”

“Uh, yeah,” the second voice seemed suspicious of where the conversation was heading. “That was more than a year ago.”

“Whatever,” she said quickly. “He told you where he worked, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember that well. I think it was, like, some development or contracting place in D.C.” the second woman’s voice was slow at first and then grew sharply impatient. “I don’t remember. What is this about, Sarah?”

“Calm down,” the first voice laughed. “I’m saying that he works for Winco, this development corporation in D.C.”

“And..?”

“And he heard through the grapevine that the higher ups have their eyes on this place.”

“They’re gonna redevelop the theatre? To what? That sounds like a stupid investm--”

“Not the theatre, Nikki, the town.”

“Okay, but how does this explain how the hell I got here?”

An irritated scoff echoed between the ripping of two handfuls of paper towels.

“Can you just try to connect the dots or a second?” the first woman sighed in a slightly annoyed, but gentle tone. “Think of the possibilities. Think of the property values. They’re gonna gut it and turn this little s****y town into somewhere actually worth being, then all of the places are going to be worth something!”

“Oh...” the voice of the second woman hummed with intrigue.

“Yeah,” the first woman said, probably excited to be understood. “So as soon as they start buying out all of these local businesses, flipping all these antique shops and diners and s**t into desirable establishments and bring them into the present, then they’ll start buying up property. That’s where we come in.”

“Ah, I see!” the second woman’s voice elevated with excitement. “What makes you certain that they’ll sell, though? If these podunk small businesses are still here at this point, what makes you think they’ll just suddenly roll over for Winco?”

“They’ll want to, Nik. Winco is gonna offer them too much to refuse, at least that’s what Pat was explaining to me. I know it’s confusing, but I think it makes sense,” the first woman instructed as if she had anticipated all the questions. “As soon as one caves, the others will catch wind of the profits being made and follow right along.”

“But if they start making it nicer here, how is that going to convince the people to move out? Or is Winco just going to be developing on the farms and stuff? There was a good amount of space, I guess.”

“I’m thinking that they’ll do that too, but once everything is too pricey for these people, they’ll probably sell and move out too. That’s where we come in.”

“Hmm, okay. Go on.” the second woman laughed hollowly, obviously trying to digest what she was hearing.

“We have to get here as soon as some quality property opens and snatch it. Then we live here for some years, ride the wave of the businesses opening up, enjoy the twenty minute ride to the beach, or whatever is left of it by then, and finally…” she paused. “Sell.”

“Sarah, you evil genius!” the second woman mocked and followed with a laugh that was joined by the other voice. “It’ll be the new beach town, but better!”

“Exactly what I’m saying.”

“But when’s the right time? And when is Winco coming? Do we know this for sure? Where did Pat hear about all of this?”

“I’ll tell you all of this after the show! I think intermission is almost over.”

“Ugh, okay. I wish we could just ditch this place and talk about it,” the second voice paused for a moment and laughed as she delivered her next thought. “You think they’ll keep this place?”

“Hah!” the first woman laughed. “Yeah right. This shitt a*s a*s theatre? This’ll probably be the first place they’ll try to get. You saw the woman who owns it, that Junie Moonie lady, right?”

“Yeah, what she’s in the play, right? That’s so weird. Named the theatre after herself and in the show? She must be on some kind of power trip. How old is she?”

“I have no idea. Definitely old enough to retire, though. She’ll probably be ready to sell it as soon as possible and head right into retirement. I know I would.”

Out of the nowhere, the sharp pain of a growing hunger surged through my body. I had been so preoccupied with the growing knot on my head that I realized that I hadn’t eaten for most of the day, hours before I even left to come to work. A low and long grumble hummed in the stall like the low roar of a cornered lion.

My breaths ceased, willingly and unwillingly. I was both and embarrassed and shocked. I didn’t want my body to make any more sounds as it dawned on me that not only was this a restroom, but the women’s restroom. I hoped that they didn’t hear it and that it was one of those sounds that is blaring in your head, but not outside your own body.

There was no more talking. I knew that they were still in the bathroom because the door had not creaked back open. I peered down below the edge of the door at a safe angle to see the two pairs of feet facing the sink and mirror. They were motionless, even to where their legs ended in my vision at the edge of the door of the stall.

A few beats marched forward in silence. I figured that I was far enough away that they wouldn’t see me or the cart, as we each rested still against the far wall of the bathroom.

Through the sliver opening of the stall door, I saw one of the women, motioning to the last stall with her head. Her face was filled with confusion and a hint of concern. She tried to mouth some words to the other woman, becoming more and more expressive until an frustrated expression took hold of her face and she rushed hurriedly out of the bathroom, grabbing her friend. The two pairs of clicks across the tile floor finished with an abrupt sway of the main bathroom door.

Although they were gone, I still remained motionless, somewhat doubting if I actually was alone in the bathroom now. The only other thing with me seemed to be the cart that held all of my belongings. After a few moments longer to confirm my suspicions, I thrust myself off of the ground and grabbed the cart. I didn’t know what was happening, but it seemed like today was one of those particularly busy nights when even the bathroom wasn’t a safe place to hide from the world.

I pulled the latch on the bathroom and swung it open. The car was old and the wheels resistant, but I forced it with all of my might to get it from the bathroom quickly, and before anyone else came in. Just as I was I getting to the door, it swung open again. My heart jumped and I reached for the toilet cleaner, apparently as a reflex.

At the door, a thin pale face greeted me. Fortunately, it wasn’t one of an unfamiliar women surprised to find me in the bathroom.

“S-” Shane’s monotonous voice greeted me. He stopped, somewhat caught off guard to meet me standing at the door. “Sol, why are you always in here?”

Overcome with relief and shock, I was unable to form a response. His heavily lidded eyes narrowed slowly under his furrowed brow as I tried to create an excuse.

“Nevermind,” he said with the usual hint of unprovoked irritation in his tone. “Come help me. There’s a rat backstage and we have to kill it.”

Of course he meant would have to kill it, but I was too relieved to be upset to once again do his task. We both left through the door.