“Nooo.” I cry as I race to reach the toilet.
I wiggle out of my pants and underwear, then sit on the toilet.
“Hurry up, Dia. I gotta—fuck. I gotta go, bae.” Chance pounds on the door with urgency. “Gotdamn.” Chance groans, and I grunt as more of my bowels run into the toilet.
It takes me another ten minutes to come out of the bathroom, and all I can do is hang my head. Chance doesn’t say a word to me as he enters the bathroom without closing it. I lost count of how many times Chance and I alternate going in and out of the bathroom. The entire thing is humiliating, as the ice cream was my suggestion.
“I mean this in the nicest way possible, Dia. But this is the last time I allow your loose booty ass to make a suggestion for us to try anything new. Fuck new. We’re sticking to old things or nothing.” Chance grumbles as he turns on the water in the sink.
Against my better judgment, I laugh but regret it a second later when my stomach grumbles, and I run back into the bathroom. It feels like God hates me as my stomach tightens and growls its protest of the torment I’m experiencing. When I finish, I can’t meet Chance’s eyes, and my wobbly legs make it difficult to stand. Chance flushes the toilet, and water echoes around the room.
“Come on, shitty, let’s take a shower. Maybe God will be kind enough to plug our asses for the rest of the day and night.” Chance gingerly helps me off the toilet and walks us into the shower.
Silence ensues as neither Chance nor I can look at each other. Sexy has taken a back seat to this moment.
“Whoa. Come on, Jesus,” Chance says, and my eyes dart up to see him gripping his stomach.
“Ah—whoop.” My attempt at laughter is cut immediately when my stomach jerks, and I squeeze my cheeks together.
“Nooo, God. Why has thou forsaken us?” I cry as tears fall from my eyes.
I close my eyes so I don’t have to see what mixes with the water that cascades over our bodies.
“Nah, don’t you dare blame God for this. Blame your need to try that flavored blasphemy of creamery. I knew I shouldn’t have . . . damn, come on, man.”
I open my eyes to see Chance’s once handsome face twisted as a deep grimace covers his mouth. I can fully agree because this is wrong on so many levels.
God, I’m so sorry.
“I promise we can?—”
“No disrespect, but shut up, Sadia.”
Time gets away from me, and I can’t pinpoint how long it takes Chance and me to clean ourselves up. But we spend the remainder of the day taking turns making deposits in the toilet. It’s the most unattractive experience I have had with the opposite sex. Between the repeat bathroom trips, Chance and I pack our clothes because checkout is tomorrow. I’m nervous because I don’t know how we’re going to drive fifteen hours if our bowels don’t get their acts together. But after today, I’m confident in knowing that nothing shows a strong connection like shared fecal incidents.
Sometime The Next Day . . .
“I gotta—oh God. Can you please stop there?” I point at the rest stop sign that comes up, mentally praying I can keep things in check that long.
Okay, the next time I have a bright idea about what to do with Chance, this moment needs to be a reminder to crawl before I walk.
“Fuck yeah. My ass is tighter than a nigga in jail dodging two dicks,” Chance grumbles.
“Ah—God, no.” I whine when he hits a bump getting off the freeway toward the rest area.
I’m seconds away from shitting in this seat at this point. Chance doesn’t pull into a spot good before he and I race from the vehicle toward the restrooms. I’m sure we’re a sight to see, as I’m holding my ass, and Chance is running like he’s in the final leg at a track meet.
“Move, nigga,” Chance says as he shoves a random man out of his way.
Thankfully, there is no opposition to my entrance into the women’s bathroom. I run to the first stall and almost throw up when the smell and evidence of someone not flushing properly stare back at me.
“Damn. I guess somebody else had some bad food.”
I slam the door and run like a contestant in that grocery store competition as I search for a clean stall to occupy. My stomach grumbles, and my cheeks plead with me to let them out of the chokehold I have them in. As soon as I find an available stall, I dance from side to side as I place the seat cover down.
“Ooh, God, please.” I almost twist my ankle from how fast I turn and plop down.
The ice cream debacle is still affecting Chance and me. My embarrassment level is shot to hell. But at least I have seen Chance at his worst and vice versa. We can only grow from here, right?
