In line for the bathroom, I see a guy with the right combination of high tops and high waters. No visible tattoos, but I can’t see his bare legs, so who knows. Maybe he has a thigh tat and maybe I’ll like it. He wears a shirt with an intricate design that was probably screen printed by a buddy he went to high school with who somehow appreciates Ventura County.

In line for the bathroom, Joey and I meet, but I neglect to mention that I noticed his shirt and that I already made a story about it in my head. I am too busy noticing that single cigarette tucked behind his ear. Suddenly I recall the rarity that is pulling off a buzz cut and the way one’s naked head makes you want to cup it whole.

Would my mouth fit around it?
What’s my name again?

In line for the bathroom, I forget that I came here with a friend. That we picked up beer on the way and that I said I probably wasn’t going to have hard alcohol tonight, but I can’t make any promises for versions of myself I don’t know yet.

In line for the bathroom, I forget that three women are in there at the same time. Playing tic-tac-toe with toilet paper. Reapplying lip gloss like butter. Moshpitting whispers over an ex. Fuck that guy.

In line for the bathroom, Joey’s way of making conversation is by asking me what could they possibly be doing in there? If I wanted to be quick and snappy and lose him, I’d say something like I wish I could tell you.

I wish I could tell you how the most intimate experiences of your life will be in the bathroom. How the first time I shaved my arms in the tub was in front of my mom in the bathroom. How the first time I felt like a woman was in the bathroom. How I lost my virginity in a bathroom. How the last time I really felt loved by a man he was sitting on the floor next to me in the bathroom. How he put his hand inside me when a tampon was stuck. My blood on his knuckles. My accidents on his fingernails.

Brushing hair. Shining teeth. Rubbing eyes. Touching mirrors. Dripping showers. Pissing off. In the bathroom.

The three women gracefully tumble out and we exchange brief and blurry half-cooked smiles. I close the door behind me, my boots making new sounds as they kiss the bathroom tile on the ground. I turn on the sink. I let it overflow. I swim, sea serpent, and siren.

The water ruins Joey’s shoes and I’m his first thigh tat. 

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