I shut the door behind me. Scrolled down to a song in my playlist. Stripped my shirt off. Turned the hot water on. Waited for the steam to rise. And then closed my eyes.
The music played, adding one synthesized layer over another. I swayed slowly, then with increasing urgency. The lights dimmed before exploding in color. I broke into sweat, as I pumped my fist in the air.
A knock on the door, followed by a stern warning from hubby. "Quiet down. You'll wake the whole building up."
I opened my eyes, and the lights came back on. I caught a glimpse of myself in the misted mirror, as I pulled back the runaway fist and wound down the epileptic swaying.
Under the fluorescent lighting, I saw the familiar image of my father. Reliving a distant era, as he strutted his stuff. Enduring the taunts of one who, at that time, still took his youth for granted.
