Bath Time

By Anna Heneise

EXT. BACKYARD, MID AFTERNOON 1
An old two story Victorian style house bakes in the sun. The back porch is concrete, with a screen door, both very clearly late additions to the architecture. An old tree stump and a flowering bush bracket the porch steps.

NANCY, a teenager in a faded T-shirt and cut off jeans, sits on the steps in a pool of sunlight, reading. The cover isn't clear because of the way she leans over the book to create a spot of shade.

Laughter is heard. Nancy shifts slightly but does not
otherwise react, glued to the page.

From around the corner of the house DAVID, a chubby toddler of about two dressed in pair of ragged shorts and a liberal layer of mud, comes careening into Nancy’s lap, knocking the book out of her hands with a shriek. Nancy sits up straight, shocked. As David reaches for her face she scrambles to her feet.

                      NANCY
          Nope. Not today, squishy. I'm all clean right 
          now and I want to stay that way.

She picks the book up and turns to go, but David latches on to her leg.
                      DAVID
          Up! Up, Nanan! Up!

Nancy hesitates.

                      NANCY
          Ready to go inside? Once we go in and clean up 
          you can't come back out.

David doesn't respond in words, but continues to cling to her leg.

                      NANCY
          Fine.

She tucks the book into her armpit and reaches with her free arm to hoist David up by the waist, scowling at the mud getting on her clothes.

David wiggles but does not otherwise protest this treatment as she tucks him under her arm much like the book. 

Nancy crosses the narrow porch to the screen door, and presses the handle down with an elbow.

2 INT. BATHROOM, MINUTES LATER 2
The bathroom is small. A tub, sink, toilet, laundry basket, and chest of cheap plastic drawers supply the furnishing. The yellow walls are covered with crayon scribbles and smears of soap and toothpaste that have been halfheartedly scrubbed away. The window has a faded pillowcase stretched over the lower half, held in place with mismatched tacks, the upper half letting in plenty of afternoon sunlight.

Nancy kicks open the bathroom door and strides into the room, David still tucked under one arm. She has exchanged the book for a stained and unraveling towel and a second pair of shorts, both of which she places on the toilet lid. She deposits David inside the tub, shorts and all, and turns on the water.

David sticks a hand under the water curiously and starts
smacking at it. Nancy kneels next to the tub and muddy water spatters all over her front. She grips David's wrist and shakes her head sharply.

                      NANCY
          No. We're not playing, we're getting clean.

David whines and scratches at her hand until she lets go.
With the ease of long practice she removes his shorts,
letting him brace against her as he steps out of them. She tosses them towards the overflowing laundry basket, and grimaces when they fall short of their target.

She focuses back on David, adjusting the water so it's not too hot. David abruptly sits in the tub and bangs his heels into the water pooling under the faucet. Nancy sighs deeply.

She grabs a plastic cup, a scrap of washcloth, and a mushy bar of soap from the edge of the tub. Filling the cup with water, she pours it carefully over David, who shivers and shrieks.

She smiles slightly, and repeats the process until most of the mud is gone. Sticking the washcloth under the water she wets it, lathers it up with soap, and pulls David a back to his feet.

Once again the toddler uses her as a brace as she soaps him down, his hand on her shoulder tangling with her hair. She winces, but doesn't pull away. Up one side of David and down the next she goes, lifting each little foot to scrub the mud from between his toes and running soapy fingers through his sweaty hair.

His hands are the only dirty part of him left, and she sits him down in the tub and makes him wash them in the facet with soap while she dumps cup after cup of water down his back and front. Carefully tilting his head back and placing a hand over his eyes, she rinses the suds out of his hair last.

David is all clean. Nancy turns off the water and makes him stand, drys him off with the towel, helps him step into the clean shorts, and pokes at the scrapes and bruises on his knees.

David tries to run but she grips him by the arm.

                      NANCY
          Wait a minute, baby. We gotta fix your knees 
          first.

She reaches behind her for the chest of drawers and pulls
open the top one, digging around inside for a bottle of
cream. She smears a liberal amount on his scraps and also on the bug bites on his arms and shoulders, and then returns it to the drawer.

David pokes at the mess on his knees and then, giggling,
smears some of it across a red pimple on Nancy’s cheek. Nancy smiles weakly.

                      NANCY
          Thanks, squishy boy. I'm sure that will help.

She gives him a slight shove towards the door.

                      NANCY
          You're good to go now, love. Why don't you go 
          ask mama if you can watch Octonauts until 
          supper?

                      DAVID
          Octonauts!

                      NANCY
          Yeah, Octonauts. Go on, ask mama!

David dashes out of the bathroom chanting “Octonauts!”

Nancy slumps. She looks down at herself-- soaked with soapy, muddy water, hands covered in cream, hair a tangle, kneeling on the dirty floor of the bathroom. She reaches up to rub away the cream on her face and sighs when it smears.

She tilts her face to the light streaming in through the
window and breathes for a moment.

She stands, turns on the water again, and steps into the
shower clothes and all.

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