unknowingly pressing an impression of the shower drain into her left bum cheek. Then, after feeling some discomfort she got up soaped herself all over including her feet. Slipping on the suds she landed back on the floor with her opposite bum cheek pressed to the same drain that had already left an imprint on her left side. “Ow,” she said through the garble of the water from the shower head.
There were no water wise points being scored tonight. Kylie was using enough water to flood a rice paddy. For nearly two hours she sat on the floor of the shower, her head buried in between her knees and her weight shifting periodically from right cheek to left cheek. It was only when she reached out for her drink and realised it was empty that she decided it was time to get out and pour herself another one. She gave herself a quick going over with the soap, this time while she remained seated, and washed it off before finally turning the taps off. Her head remained hung as she stepped out and swung her arm aimlessly around searching for a towel.
She picked up the clothes she had on prior to her shower but they were wet so she wrapped a towel around her, took the wet clothes and threw them in the laundry tub. Stumbling into her bedroom, she picked up a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt off the floor and put them on. It made no difference to her that they were both inside out and since the bedroom light was off she didn’t realise until much later.
As Kylie had dropped her towel two red marks were very noticeable on the left and right cheeks of her buttocks. The shower drain had left very distinct imprints on her skin. From the partial glow of the hallway light, the imprints perfectly resembled the cockpit windscreens from the Millennium Falcon of Star Wars fame. The welts were starting to hurt and Kylie had rubbed at them blindly before pulling on her boxer shorts.
After getting dressed she stumbled back to the kitchen and found another cup in which to pour yet another drink. She was hungry again and wanting something more substantial than chips so she searched for something tasty, first in the fridge, then in all of the cupboards. In a disoriented state she stumbled around the kitchen and left cupboard doors and drawers open as she looked for elusive foodstuffs. Hidden in the bottom drawer, she found the emergency essentials packet her father had given her the day she left home. Deciding that her current state constituted an emotional emergency, and in desperate need of some form of connection, Kylie reached for the parcel .
The brown paper parcel was tied up with a string bow and it had a tag which read: “This little parcel has been packed full of love, to assist in the event of an emergency, and only to be opened, by A Baby. Love Dad.”
“Ohhhh,” she said as her face crumpled up and the tears started again.
Kylie pulled the string bow and opened up the packet to find eleven items, each individually wrapped with a little note containing a description and a number from one to eleven.
Number 1 was candles for use in a blackout.
Number 2 were a dozen boxes of matches for when she did a really mad shit and needed to light one up to mask the stench she had created from possible guests. These matches could save their life! Or she could use them to keep her candles alight.
Number 3 was a Maglite torch with a one-foot handle on it – to be stored under the bed and used as a weapon on any burglars, should they turn up in the middle of the night.
Number 4 was some heavy duty masking tape to fix up anything that might break or come apart or to secure the burglar she intercepted with Number 3.
Number 5 was a block of chocolate to help mend a broken heart.
Number 6 was a radio to listen to songs that reminded her of the times she had spent dancing with her friends and to hear any cyclone updates.
Number 7 was some rope so she could tie up any loose ends.
Number 8 was a little toolkit to repair anything that needed a little mend.
Number 9 were various glues to help her out when she was in a sticky situation
Number 10 was a bag of two-dollar gold coins to get her a ticket home if she ever missed the company of her friends or family.
Number 11 was a plastic mould with a smiley face on it and the word Smile written on it that you could position on a piece of bread and press firmly on it then place the bread in the toaster and the message would be visible when the toast browned.
Kylie loved Smiley faces and her Dad had called her Smiley Kylie all her life so it turned her frown upside immediately, until she realised something.
“Ahh fark, I don’t have any flamin’ bread!” she said sadly.
She ripped open the slab of chocolate and took a bite. She had tears running down her face from the joy she had found by opening up each little gift in the emergency parcel but sadness in her heart from feeling so alone.
Kylie sat on the kitchen floor and curled up into the foetal position and cried. When she sat up again, she wrapped up the chocolate and pushed it aside and poked through the items from the parcel. Picking up the masking tape, she slipped it on her left arm like a bracelet and crawled back to the lounge room, grabbed her drink and continued on her crawl to the bedroom. Pulling up stumps in front of her mirror, she took a good hard look at herself, as she continued to sip at her drink. She looked dishevelled, her shower had not washed her mascara away, her face looked tired, her hair was messy from drying wet and not being brushed. There she sat on the floor, amongst a pile of clean laundry that she had not yet folded or put away, when she saw her Lycra bike pants. A smile found its way onto her face. After taking a sip of her drink, she grabbed the bike pants and spread them out on her lap. Pulling the tape bracelet off her arm, she took a length of tape, cut it with her teeth then crumpled it up and repeated the process. She stuck both pieces of tape side by side onto the Lycra bike pants and then pulled off a large straight piece and stuck it under the crumpled bits. Then she completed her stick-a-thon by adding a final piece of semi-circular shaped tape under the other straight one. She wrestled her way into the Lycra bike pants pulling them up over her boxer shorts, then she picked up her drink, carefully and awkwardly made it to the standing position – without spilling a drop – and stood with her back to the full-length mirror. Turning her head towards her reflection, she introduced herself to her newly created friend, Smiley Duds.
“Allo allo allo. What do we ’ave ’ere then?” Kylie asked the reflection of her arse, which resembled a smiley face.
“I don’t have ears? I’m just a face!” it replied in a deeper voice – born from the same mouth as Kylie.
“A Face?” Kylie said to her new friend. “What sort of face are you?”
“I’m Bum Face?”
“Allo Bum face! I... am.... Shit faced!” She laughed, raising her drink to the mirror.
Kylie clenched then unclenched her bum cheeks together repeatedly to make her taped creation’s mouth move to reflect the motion of laughter. “That’s funny,” Bum Face said.
“Have you been here long?” Kylie asked her rear.
“I’ve been hanging around all of your life, you’ve just ignored me until now!”
“I don’t remember ever hearing from you?”
“What? Are you deaf? I’m always chiming in after dinner?”
“Really? After every dinner?” Kylie ars-ed.
“You’re
