The Great American Bathroom Novels

The Harlequin and the Hare

A Bathroom Novel by Kara Dunne

There once was a man named Bernice. He in fact was given that name in alteration during the time when his mother worked at the Sew and Say dress shop. She was a tall healthy woman of average build meanwhile Bernice was nearly five foot. The dress shop was short of fabric that year. Bernice’s instinct was to sell all of his mother’s sewing equiptment when she passes away last spring but the reassertion of her memory harbored new plans. her machine, her bobbings, her reasperry red pin chushion sat in the corner of his apartment for almost the entire summer, the sunlight in the morning catching in it such a way that he almost caught the bobbin threading itself one mornign, or so it semmed as his cat Chester Arthur III emerged from the static warmth pawing on of his musky brown kibbles. The needle of the machine almost flickered, as if he had just walked in on two people exchanging according winks. Stop winking at me, though Bernice.

I’ll have to get rid of that stuff pretty soon, he realized. When he was in third grade his mother forgot his birthday. Granted, it was a tradition of everyone around him to simply miss that day at the drop of a hat, but not his own mother. People at the dress shop called her Tam, it was their amiable repertoire, at seven, Bernice didn’t like it. Constance was her real name but no one paid any attentinon to the at detail, as minor as in importannce as the name Marchel Duchamp. Oh, come now, darling, this acclaimed woman named Tam, said to Bernice ( it was almost as it is behind the curtain of a stage, such is the same behind the fibbing doors of the dress shop, go in as one person wearing the same kind of garb as the day before, except now, instead of being a boring old outfit it is now an elaborate costume for a character named ‘Tam’.) I’m your mother no matter what people call me as on the street, think of it as being short for Tamborine! It now does sound sweeter doesn’t it darling? Sure enough that fabulation held Bernice a while as a yellow haired bungling youngster. Oh pooh ( exclamation of contempt, disbelief) this polymer of lies only held together as long as he believed that thunder was just god at his weekly bowling league. When Bernice realized that inert strength of bowling compared to the rumbling bustle of piuns knocking together like strangers not knowing of where they’re going, of course the almighty God needed something more how the french say, ear drum pounding knock you back into the walk in closet kind of sheer speed of sound and power. Bowling jsut didn’t do it for Bernice. It wasn’t enough. Someday you’ll be a distinguished gentleman, his mother said to hime one arfternoon, it’s just not enough for you to be an ordinary bloke my dear, will you promise me you will always understand what I truly want for you? She picked her teeth as she said this with the needle she was darning white stockings for the edlerly and ever so lonely Mrs. Hampenburger who lived just down the street but father waway when money and status are concerned. For that she was just about halfway across the country. The fact that Bernice walked by just as he saw his mother in the dress shop nearly doubled him over. He would have expected her dutifully doubled over with exhaustion, instead he staopped short, noticign that it was just avout closing time and the time where “ Tam” had promised to be home just before supper with some sort of sugary decadence, just what any boy your age now turned will deserve, she winked at hime while saying this earlier when she buttoned the top button of his grey and lavender peacoat. Right after I finish that suitcoat for Mrs. June I’ll be pleased as punch to take you out. he grinned despite the fact that he had been securely buttoned to the point where a grin was just an assesory to it all. Now be a good boy and get yourself off to school I just know one day you’ll be a proper gentleman. He nodded and accepted the equivalent and equidistant gesture to that l]of love, which on today’s affection menu was a hug. Not too short, not too long, just enough of a squeeze to make you feel like you are alive and so too is that other person. An exchange of awarenes. Mass-molecule awareness if you want to get techincal and scientifical about it. pooh. Back to the curtailment of birthday number seven. Bernice was passing by the dress shop expecting to see his dearly devoted mother at work hectically hemming, hair untidy, face smudged with machine grease; but instead of this she was sitting around with a few of her fellow seamstress ladies havign tea and laughing. It was nearly a half hour since the birthday boy’s promise had expired and he was agape at what he saw through the window. He stood there, the constraint of his peacoat confining his confusion, face smushed against the glass, staring at his mother, who continued to luahg, this time she looked at him and nearly dropped her cup and saucer. I’m so sorry mdy hear, I guess the time just slipped away and there was nothing that I could do. Please forgive me darling, let’s go it’s not too late to get a cone at Hubert’s as long as it’s a small one, I’ve left my large bills at home I’m afraid. She shrugged at the other ladies as they sat there, as if they led a secret order of divining seamstress goddesses in charge of mendinng the skies after a heavy rainfall and stitching up the runs of all the the stockings of world troubles. Like when politicians run for office. It’s a hasty process that nearly always ends in an unsightly little tear somewhere on the smooth legged appearance of the government. Nice legs though. He envied their power, and the secret sewing society which had passed a special contingency to ruin his birthday. The ice cream was cold, and with a corroding smile his mother insisted that he get jimmies on top. Rainbow jimmies were his favorite. Except now all he could see throught the swirling of chocolate and vanilla were little colorful bits that reflected his mother’s meniacle unending laughter. Now the ice cream had an after taste of the time that he wet himself first day of kindergarden and the fact that pony-tailed Susie who liked bunnies and whales liked to draw Bernice and his wet pants, she made him not tell the teacher that he had gone to the bathroom in his pants so that she had enough time to draw him. Not knowing the difference between cause and effect, Bernice sat put. The whole day tasted of hair and crayola color burnt sienna.

The rambunctious wedding guest beat his breast. he simpy could not wait for the cake, he had to have a piece and he was tired of sitting there watching the happy couple dilly dalley and do ther ( deemed by them) important things like the toast and teh first dance and it always seemed like someonen was interrupting the whole process by clinking on their champagne glass and indicating that the newly weds should kiss. kiss. again. Kiss. Stop it. clink clink. oops forgot kiss. ah when will the cake be cut? He could taste the sugary sweetness of the icy on his tounge and it was drawing him into maddness. He wished he could give a toast about the cake to everyone so that he could give subliminal messages out, put in words about thhe happy couple but make sure he used the words: chocolatey, frosting, buttery, creamy, goodnesss, moisty layers. Maybe not the moist. Then it would be instinct to have cake next thing. He had no bargaining power, he was only the groom’s father’s cousin. Not close enough by blood to be close enough by cake.