The sentiment holds, like the small smile on my face as I turn on the taps, and it’s instant bliss.
‘The water is warm.’
I almost didn’t believe him.
Not hot, not scalding, perfectly warm. I don’t have to balance out the cold and hot taps to find the right temperature.
It’s fucking goldilocks.
And I sag into it.
I swoon.
My head falls back and I let it all strike my face.
The warmth pours out of the pipes. I don’t know how but it does.
Out there, in the blackout, before I was taken prisoner, we would find running water or we wouldn’t. We would find hot water or we wouldn’t.
Bee thinks there’s something in the blackout that attacks mechanical things, but not gas and pilot lights. So maybe this place still has a pilot light flickering in the water boiler.
I never argued because, honestly, I don’t know shit about any of that.
I called the landlord whenever there was any sort of issue in the flat.
Mum did a lot of stuff on her own. She was a good fixer. And I loved her, I did, but she never had time. So she never had time to teach me anything like that.
Skills not passed down.
Best I can do is…
My mind snags.
I don’t know what life skills I have.
Survival skills are lacking, too.
Without Bee, I wouldn’t have made it this far.
Samick has kept me alive, too.
But if I had to do all that on my own?
I doubt I could change a broken wheel on a bicycle, or fix a torch, like the headlamp in my backpack I carried around for ages, but never fixed, because it’s not in my skillset.
Mum could have probably done it.
It isn’t a happy thought.
It would’ve been nice if she taught me something along the way, like where hot water comes from, what a pilot light is and where to find it.
My mouth tucks into the corners of my cheeks and I drop my head.
The bone of my chin digs into the dip of my clavicle.
Water rushes over me, my face, my lips, my eyes, my nostrils.
It drowns me.
