Brown water gushing into your kitchen sink, as some experts might claim, can be perceived as a negative. Yes, to some degree, if you are one of the chosen many who call the Garden State home, with its towering mansions shrouded by thinning shrubbery and rusting fences and the rest of us caught between an army of motels and houses sinking into the earth, you have to accept some level of toxicity in your bloodstream. As Reagan himself once proudly said before losing all memories of the crimes his administration committed in Central America, “Don’t be a sissy. Asbestos is white so how bad can it be?”
Still, for Samara and Ashish, loyal subjects of the suburban sprawl, the brown water oozing, turning their kitchen sink into a muddied pool like dirty feet had raced through, was a step beyond the normal abnormal one might be willing to compromise with.
“And they expect us to pay rent,” Samara exclaimed, muttering as the water gurgled and pussed into their kitchen sink.
Shaking off the early morning rust, Ashish also observed, realizing that more than likely their bodies were gradually being poisoned. After four days of the water being so discolored, he had called the building management, and left a voicemail. Seeing the stress spreading across Samara’s face, knowing she had her class to teach in just a few hours, he told her he’d call the office again, and call once more tomorrow.
“Look at it…” she murmured instead, gazing into the pool, as their neighbors above and below stomped out the door, as cars shrieked outside at the intersection, the traffic lights dangling.
“Definitely other people are complaining too,” he said.
“We need to go to the office and complain,” she said, “We need to talk to other people.”
Doubt and fear surfaced, followed by excitement, followed by more doubt and fear.
“Why doesn’t this bother you more?” she looked back at him, “We’re living in a toxic dump basically.”
On cue, after years of training, Ashish responded with a grin and a joke. “I promise to go down there after work and punch the first person I see. How about that?”
Trying to fight off the urge to cry and laugh, Samara tilted her head, her bangs covering her eyes, briefly. She planted a kiss on his lips.
“You scare me sometimes,” Ashish said.
“You’re the one saying you’ll kill people for me,” she replied, and laughed.
“I never said kill, jeeeeez,” he added, trailing after her scent, her body and ideas shuffling from room to room, putting together a wardrobe in the midst of confusion, anger, and now, a hint of joy.
Ashish himself would start to get ready, and kiss Samara on her neck, while she stood in front of the bedroom mirror. Another smile peered through, although she knew the right thing to do was kiss him back, and yet, all she could think about was the water gathering in their sink, the students waiting for her an hour away, the nature of life as it slipped from her grasp.
Similar thoughts pervaded Ashish’s mind, his bloated brain cells gathering steam inside, and yet, he returned to the shower, and flipped on the water instead, ignoring the tingling sensation spreading across his acrid skin.