The Fur-Lined Bathtub

The mother struggled, as she always did, to wrangle the two squirming bodies into the tub. Screams ringing in her ears, wriggling bodies against her ribcage.

“No, Mommy, no!” The oldest, a wily girl with long arms and fingers that could dig into your arm if you weren’t careful, shook her long, knotted hair and thrust her head back. Arching her back, further and further, trying to catapult herself out of her mother’s arms. For a second the mother envisioned the lime green with mold in between tiles covered in her child’s deep maroon blood. Swallowing back a shiver she got a better grip on her.

Her son was close to two. Blonde hair swooshing over his face, his cheeks red from wailing. His right hand had somehow found its way into her mouth, the nails he refused to let her trim scraping the roof.

She set the girl in first, she was five and could handle a slightly rough dismount into the water. The girl folded her arms and stared at her mother. “I hate you,” she seethed. The mother just sighed and gently set the boy in next to the girl.

“Watch your brother for me.” The mother turned her back for the briefest of seconds, rummaging in the adjacent linen closet for their towels. The girl had to have the pink one with white flowers – she would not get out of the tub if it wasn’t handed to her. And you’d better hope she doesn’t get soap in her eyes before you have it ready, only the pink one with white flowers will make her raw and red eyes cease to burn.

The boy, however, had yet to pick out a favorite. The mother worried about what this could mean. But Saturday night bath time was not the moment to be fraught about the future.

She had heard the advertisement on the radio and laughed. Had thought it was a joke. A fur-lined bathtub?

“Oh yes, Cynthia has one and swears by it.” Her friend sat across from her at the kitchen table. The kids were somewhere howling and crashing toys together. Her friend has brought over her six-year-old boy. The six-year-old boy and the five-year-old girl were supposed to like each other, but the mother worried the girl was somehow secretly tormenting him. Every time her friend left, the six-year-old boy had welts on his arms and no one would confess as to how.

“How do they install it?” The mother was curious. Anything to make bath time more enjoyable.

The friend leaned in, smile like the devil. “That’s the best part – a series of handsome and strong young men come in and take care of it for you. Cynthia said it took under an hour.” The friend leaned back and brought her tea cup to her lips.

The mother just stared at her tea, listening to the shrieks coming from the other room.

The men did come, but they were not handsome or young. It also did not take under an hour. There was grunting and pounding and whacking and pipes sounded like they might burst. But by the end of the afternoon, just as the sun was setting, just in time for Saturday night bath time, they handed her a yellow piece of paper with the total.

As the men filed out of the house, their dirt and grime and boots stomping; she hollered for her daughter, her son firmly attached to her in fear of the strangers.

The mother walked into the bathroom. The men had left mud everywhere. With a sigh she realized she would have to clean the room and her children that evening. But it was here, the tub was here.

For a brief moment, her son stopped crying and lifted his snot and his nose away from her dress and looked down at the tub. He pointed a finger in the direction of the glistening, gleaming fur. The brown, coarse yet smooth, rippling textured tub seemed to wave back at him. “Bur,” he said.

“Yes, fur.” The mother repeated. She set him down in the empty tub and let him touch the fur. He sat there, entranced by his surroundings. He rubbed his hands, his face, his arms, his feet all over.

Her daughter finally appeared. After a moment of watching the fur glisten and move back and forth, her daughter simply took off her clothes and got in. She wiggled around, her gangly arms and tiny pot belly feeling every inch. Instead of screams, there were now giggles. The two children playfully laughed and shoved each other. The fur-lined tub welcomed them, held them. Absorbed their dirt, licked them clean, polished their skin. The children laughed and laughed and the mother just stared at them in awe and wonder. Tears streaming down her face. Free from bath time at last!