There's a Toad in the Drain

When my Fire-bellied toad came back from the dead, he came back as a hot shower. He came back as music, whose notes fly through the air and are scrubbed squeaky clean by the warm steam. He came back as my woman, who, curled and corkscrewed, wrapped themselves in their own arms and crouched at the bottom of the tub. As slimy as he was, she, doused in denim and daisies, slid across my hand as she curled up, and left a layer of goo behind. I played with it, clear sap dripping off my hand. I could hear voices from the other side of the tile telling me I had to let her go. What started as murmurs, barely heard underneath the rainfall from a metal cloud now rang throughout my head as a demand. I squatted down and fully engulfed the folded girl, whose dirty blonde hair hung low, sinking to the floor forever like the long golden dresses of a Gustav Klimt masterpiece. I hugged her and rubbed her rough semi-permeable skin upon my cheek. Her thin layer of mucus stuck us together like glue. I placed my hand on her stomach and let it rest there. I felt a fire. And for a moment I wondered if I treated her right. I began to tremble and she turned to look at me. I breathed. Through my skin. And hers. I heard her voice. “You were my responsibility and you didn’t take care of me. Now you have to let me go.” But then her mouth moved and I heard, “Are you okay?” I’m fine I responded, as I hugged just a little bit harder than before. “I’m just really enjoying this moment right now. I could hold you forever.”

I remember walking downstairs that fall day, down to my parents sitting on the foyer couch with their hands in their lap. My mother guided me to the kitchen table and we sat. There was Rex in a small little Tupperware. They told me I had to let him go. That I didn’t take care of him well enough. That I was irresponsible. I never thought I would see him again. And now that he’s come back from the dead I see him all the time. He’s like a good friend who knows when to make me feel like shit. And insecure. But at the same time it makes me realize what I have. And what I need to work to hold on to.