The Fifteen Minute Novel is a novel written fifteen minutes at a time with each week day’s section starting with the sentence from the previous day. At least it is attempting to be a novel. For now I am just aiming at one continuous story, worked on for fifteen minutes each day. Started Friday January 1st, 2021 (in case you want to search for the beginning. I can’t wait to see where it ends up. It could be good, or it could be a mess. We’ll have to see. For now, here is today’s fifteen minutes.
Day 14: Without a shower curtain a fine mist of droplets permeated the air around the bath/shower combo.
Without a shower curtain a fine mist of droplets permeated the air around the bath/shower combo. James placed his clothing as far from the misty spray as he could and then draped his towel over them for extra protection.
He dropped his shorts by the side of the tub and stepped into the bathtub. The showerhead was low and aimed more at his neck then his head. At six foot two inches James knew he was considered tall but rarely did he feel so. In his shower, the shower was a tall tile lined tube with a rainfall showerhead as well as side sprays to get every possible part of him clean. Here he felt like a giant and had to contort and maneuver around the space to make certain he was clean.
Not showing off was not an option. He wanted the scent of the safe houses gone. James looked over at the shampoo and soap he brought with him. They came from one of the safe houses. He decided he didn’t want them. He would satisfy himself with rinsing off and getting as much dirt off as possible with bare hot water. Then once he managed to secure shampoo and soap whose scent didn’t remind him of enclosed airless spaces he would repeat the bathing maneuvers needed so that he could once again smell like him.
James straightened up with a start, the hot water hitting him in his throat and steam billowing up around his head as though he was the mountaintop enshrouded with clouds. He didn’t know the brands he liked. Faith bought them for him, or ordered them bought. After the divorce, he kept the housekeeper and she simply ordered whatever it was Faith put on his toiletries list. When he went shopping it wouldn’t be for the products he once used, James Ferris would have his own scents, his own line up of products. James smiled slightly at the thought. By the end of the day he would even smell like a new man. There was some appeal in that.
He finished his acrobatic shower and turned off the water. To his surprise it remained piping hot the entire time he bathed. “So at least it has a good hot water tank.” The tiles were slick and bare when he stepped out of the shower and he nearly slipped when he bent to retrieve his towel.
“Bath mat,” he decided. He shook his head. Somehow he always thought of such things as decorative fripperies. After nearly slipping on the bare wet tiles, he realized that some fripperies might have a point. He wondered if his therapist would call that growth.
James toweled off and dressed. He left his socks off as all of the times had a vaguely damp feel to them from the excess steam and lack of shower curtain and he didn’t want to have wet socks. It was the one thing he hated above all else. Wet socks. James had learned over the years that he could deal with most any other sort of discomfort thrown at him. He could sleep on the bare ground. He could shiver in the cold or sweat in the heat. He just couldn’t abide wet socks. That was where he drew the line. “Anything but wet socks.”
And so James didn’t put on his socks but carried them in one hand and his previous day’s shorts in the other. He dropped the shorts on the closet floor next to his shoes and closed the closet door. James sat on the end of his bed and pulled his socks on.
Ten til Midnight 