The Arboretum

The Bathroom

I arrived  with just enough time to run to the bathroom and clean up before class started. I grabbed my purse, trying not to leave grease stains on it as I slung it over my arm and headed for the arboretum. I was sweating, my hair sticking to my scalp and I could feel the perspiration running down my back between my shoulder blades as I ran across the asphalt parking lot that felt a little squishy beneath my clogs.

 I found the closest bathroom by the main doors and tried to make myself presentable. Thankfully I had it all to myself. The water from the old metal faucet was cool and I luxuriated in the feel of the cold water against my forehead and flushed cheeks and greasy chin.  I remember when I was a kid in elementary school, we would pull a paper towel from the white metal wall dispenser and fold the sheet into a little packet, poke a hole in the top and fill it with water.  It lasted just long enough for a quick slurp of water and then it would disintegrate.  

Once my face and hands were clean I worked on my ketchup-stained top. Finally satisfied, I stepped into the stall and used the bathroom. As I left the stall, still rushing to be on time, I noticed an older woman at the sink, washing her hands. I looked at her in the mirror and smiled. "I wonder if she is in my class" I thought.

By the time I found the right room, everyone else was already seated. The class was almost full. A blast of hot air greeted me as I opened the door.  It was hot in there, so hot I almost whimpered. The cheeseburger now sat like a lump of congealed coal in my gut. I longed for a cool drink, or even one of my childhood  paper towel packets. The classroom was on the west side of the building and the sun at 6 o'clock pm was beating down on the west wall. It was also humid. If I hadn't paid a boat-load of money for that class, I would have walked out right then. If only I had.