Mario was getting too preachy. I wanted to lighten the mood.
"You idiot. I'm not here in the bathroom with you ... I'm *here*."
As additional emphasis, he slapped his hand against MY forehead to punctuate that last word. Despite the skin to skin contact, there was no sudden spark or transfer of painful memories. Instead, I watched him turn and walk right through the shattered mirror, disappearing from my sight.
Timed perfectly with his departure, I heard another commode flush.
I couldn't help it. This latest impromptu trip through my subconscious was tickling my funny bone.
"What is this? I'm being visited by the three ghosts of bathroom stalls past, present and future?" I muttered to myself.
Straight out of the strangest Dickens' story ever imagined, my dead mother whom I had never met was the next to appear post-flush.
"Hi," I said hesitantly.
"Oh sweetheart," she said in reply. "You struggling?"
"I don't know. I just came into here to pee. And then ..."
I was indeed struggling when it came to trying to find the right words.
"... all ... *this*!"
She smiled sweetly.
"You'll get through it. But you do need to stay focused. Some of your biggest trials are still to come ..."
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