Monday, June 09, 2008
How I have come to love the lock on my bathroom door. I sneak inside and pray that no one under ten saw me slip in or heard the surreptitious click. I am grateful that quiet privacy is assured for a few sacred moments, that I am protected here in this snug, little room from two sets of curious, prying eyes. I sit down on the toilet, glad to be off my feet for only the second time today, and truly appreciate that I haven’t fallen in. I am alone. This is heaven. It is tranquil in here. A fine layer of condensation clouds the view out the window so I rub an oval patch dry and peek through at a bird winging by. She is alone, too. And free. Sometimes I mourn the loss of my freedom. Recently I was thumbing through my pre-motherhood scrapbook and found a cartoon of a man holding a set of jail window bars in his hands and pushing with all his might against the metal with one raised foot. His face is anguished and I imagine his agonized grunts as he tries to escape. But there are no walls surrounding him. He is in a prison of his own making and simply needs to drop the bars and walk away, free. The door knob begins to rattle furiously. Time is up. I look at the clouds in the sky one more time, then flush and open the door. My children are waiting, glad I'm back. And so am I. I choose to surrender to the next moment as Mom, knowing that soon enough I'll find another little moment of peace.