Bathroom Monologue: Love Like Lightning

Do you remember the day we met?

That thunderstorm? Of course.

So you don’t, then. It was sunny.

I only came out during the rain, hon. It’s when my father lost concentration. He gets carried away throwing lightning at unbelievers.

Maybe it was sprinkling and you split a relatively clear sky to get a better look at me.

That is not what happened.

How do you remember it?

It was pouring, and your silly costume clinging to you, and your lip was split, and you were running for your life.

I was in a scuffle that day. That’s true. They stole an old lady’s purse, and someone has to stand up to injustice.

Running for your life. Hair plastered to your scalp from all the rain.

It might have been sprinkling.

I thought it was very unfair for you to be against four at the same time.

I knew you didn’t remember. It was eight.

Maybe you saw eight eventually. They were really knocking you around.

It was not my best day. I’m not good on sunny days. All that heat.

You just would not give them the purse back, even when they went to crush your head under a trash can. You’re always adorable when you’re doomed. I couldn’t help myself, and so I came down. I landed in-between you and them.

I remember that view. The look.

I was facing them. You couldn’t see me.

Oh, I know. I had the full view up your skirt. The sun was coming between your knees, because it wasn’t raining, and it cast a lovely color across them.

You’re terrible.

No, you were terrible. You tore apart eight men.

Four. And I didn’t kill anyone.

Merely electrified them into unconsciousness.

Lightning does that.

I wondered why a girl that pretty would help me.

Not why lightning would help you?

It was a lovely view.

You’re terrible.

Your father was terrible. I thought God was angry at us.

He’s a god, and he was very unhappy. He’ll never forgive me.

I didn’t understand what he was saying, but that voice would make any language obvious. The vitriol. Also, the giant head in the clouds. I thought I was brain-damaged.

If you were worried about head-trauma, why did you come over to me?

I thought you were going to drown on the sidewalk. Hunched on the concrete as the flood waters started rising. The pelting rain, the waters coming out of the gutters around you. It was like it hurt you. Like you couldn’t look up anymore. So I figured, offer her an umbrella.

So it was pity?

It was head trauma.

You could barely stand and you were trying help me?

Well, maybe I’d pass out, but you didn’t look like you could swim, and I had a secret. I’m buoyant.

Now that part is true.