Rot and prom

One week later. One week and my apartment still reeks of rot. Rot and mildew and putrid water. It's nice.

I apologized before letting a friend use the bathroom on a walk from bar to Metro.

"It's a mess," I explained. Mildewing clothes hung in the bathroom to dry, awaiting a trip to the Laundromat. Furniture floated away from the walls to expose puddles that just didn't dry. Things that lived under the beds, storage bins and the like, found their way to the hall, the bathroom, the living room to dry. "And it smells really bad."

"That's OK," she said, afraid of walking and riding without stopping. I turned the key and paused, apologizing again. "It's fine."

I opened the door and we walked into the dark swamp that I called home.

"It does smell bad, doesn't it?" I asked.

"It is a little... musty," she replied and dashed toward the bathroom. I stayed in the living room, forlornly poking at piles of shoes and clothes, tempted to throw it all.

As the week passed, the work seemed to increase, rather than decrease, as I found new and fun damage from the flooding. Apparently, the dress I wore in my sister's wedding bled onto my junior prom dress. Fat drops of greenish blue on the cream colored satin and gold-flecked lace, a fairy princess sort of gown – off the shoulder, bubbled sleeves, flowers and lace. Gaudy.

I remember posing for pictures.

"I guess I'm not going to dance," I laughed.

"Why not?"

I held up my arms, corsaged wrist and all and looked down through the dress, the gaping neckline, to my toes.

I think that I danced. It doesn't really matter, though. I remember the pictures, the laughing, my friends and the dress. That's why, 17 years later, I still have it in a bin under my bed. That's why, 17 years later, I'm trying to save it from the effects of my bridesmaid's dress. Some day, I will give it to my nieces as a dress up dress; sooner rather than later, if the drips and drabs of bluish green set into the bodice.

The cleanup might go faster if I hadn't stopped to save the dresses, which dripped onto the floor, the shower curtain, the tub. At some point, I will have to stop and clean, wash the floors and the base boards. At some point, I will have to stop wandering through my memories and put things away. At some point, I'm going to have to try to save the shower curtain and not just the dresses that I no longer wear.

With any luck, the cleaning, the bleaching, will kill the smell of rot.


Tag: Flooding