Under Jarod’s sink was a scary place. Generally, the cabinets under sinks aren’t all that intimidating or menacing. You might find yourself a particularly derelict space once in a while, but for the most part the worst in terms of bathroom sinks is mold and underused cleaning products. But no, no, the underneath of Jarod’s sink was nothing like this.
Placed three inches from the right and 6 inches from the back were two economy sized packages of blue q-tips. Next to them, in perfect alignment stacked from back to front were two and a half bottles of economy sized spearmint mouthwash. Next to them were two six packs of Mach 5 shaving blades, and behind those were 6 bars of Dove unscented soap. Everything was individually wrapped.
Jarod didn’t know why he kept his sink like this. No one kept their sink like this. When he would do his weekly cleaning, he would take out everything in their proper piles, line them up on a clean bath towel in the tub and spray the inside of the cabinet with 409 multi-surface spray cleaner with bleach (unscented). Then he would put all the items back one by one. Every day Jarod woke up, washed, ate breakfast, and went to work. Then he came back, he ate, he showered, and went to bed.
And so Jarod woke up today, just like he did every other day, at 6:20 in the morning. The beeps of his extra loud alarm clock filled the perfectly purified air and bounced off the perfectly painted white semi-gloss walls of his apartment. As he lifted the beige comforter, from the left to right, at a perfect angle, up and across his body, he felt the tiny bones in the deep of his shoulder crick. He wondered why he never felt the same pains in the other shoulder. He lowered his feet to the floor immediately; he never just lay in bed. Jarod had read an article somewhere sometime about how your body develops muscle memory and associations with the bed and sleeping, and reading and doing things other than sleeping would only make it harder to fall asleep. So Jarod only slept in bed. In between the moments when Jarod would lay down and when he would fall asleep, Jarod would count forwards and backwards to and from 100.
Jarod rushed to work, well rushed as much as Jarod would ever rush. He more like hastened, as the subway door opened he stepped forward, then stepped back every time another commuter rushed by him to get on. He did this dance with no one in particular, apologizing in his head to people as they bumped him from side to side until he was finally the last one left to get on. He knew he was going to have to hold the bar in between two people that he most definitely knew he didn’t want to be standing next to. He began feel exasperated as he dug in his shoulder bag for a tissue that would work as a barrier between his Dove fresh skin and the plagued bars of New York City public transportation.