For as long as I can remember,
I’ve had the same escape
at social gatherings:
the satisfyingly serene chamber of solitude,
also known as the bathroom.
Not due to constipation,
nor the dreaded opposite.
But instead for the glory that arrives
from the lapse in small talk,
the momentary pause
of agonizing if I look okay,
sound okay,
act okay.
The calmness that comes from counting the tiles
The gratitude I feel when I catch my breath
The curiosity quenched from browsing the host’s magazines stacked on the toilet
The tranquility I find when running wild and free in my vibrant jungle of a mind
I warn you though,
if you relate:
Be careful of your conquest,
for rarely does a fellow guest
notice or ask questions
until your fourth venture to the throne.
At that point,
someone might touch your shoulder gently…
ask if your stomach is feeling alright.
Then, you might be stuck.
For you either confide in them
your desperate urge to be alone,
(despite genuinely enjoying the personalities of everyone here! truly!)
if only for a minute…
Or,
you lie.
And say:
Oh yes, I ate some lasagne I shouldn’t have.
Week-old lasagne.
And they will nod knowingly.
And hope you feel better.
Meanwhile,
your secret remains safe:
I’m not constipated.
I’m not overrun with the runs.
I’m just an introvert.
Water closet was my intention! It's an old-timey European term for bathroom, though it seems like the acronym has been co-opted since.
luckily i’m just an introvert with stomach problems