Girl in a Bathroom

Girl in a Bathroom

Esterson Hillenbrand was desperate and lonely.
Esterson Hillenbrand was rich and attractive.
Esterson Hillenbrand was contemplating killing herself.
With a name like Esterson, who wouldn't?

Esterson Hillenbrand was crouched over a toilet bowl, surveying its
innards. At twenty-one years old, she was desperate, rich, attractive,
lonely and a whole bunch of other adjectives which could not explain
why she was crouched over a toilet bowl when her friends were waiting
for her. Thinking about herself, she kept coming back to her name.
Esterson. What the hell kind of name was that? Her parents insisted on
calling her by her full name at every opportunity; she found solace in
her sisters name: Gertrude. Gertrude was a worse name than Esterson.
Esterson had dignified eccentricity. Gertrude was just plain horrible.
And Esterson was pretty sure that Gertrude was the name of a dragon in
a children's book.

Thinking of Gertrude, Esterson silently felt some pity for the girl,
four years her junior. She had yet to endure the surprised looks of
people in the real world as she introduced herself, the accompanying
prying remarks? "That's an unusual name" was always escorted by a quick
smirk. "My parents were Fascists," Esterson would shrug, smiling
sweetly as the smirk disappeared.

Esterson smiled at herself amusedly. She had been considering the
toilet bowl for almost half an hour now, as these thoughts whirred
around her small, slightly square head. If she'd really looked, she
would have seen the water gently lapping the porcelain under the weight
of her breath, but Esterson was temporarily blinded by her own wit and
intelligence. She could never see what was in front of her.

A few more minutes moped by, and Esterson looked at her mobile phone.
She never wore a watch - it was far too conventional. From her phone
she looked at her outfit (all ready to go out), to the mirror (too high
up to check her reflection, but a comforting presence nonetheless), to
the door (still no one hammering on it), and back to the toilet. All
this contemplating the toilet, and so far - nothing.

*

Gertrude Hillenbrand was fun and lively.
Gertrude Hillenbrand was rich, but not very attractive.
Gerturde Hillenbrand was contemplating killing her sister.
With a name like Esterson, who wouldn't?

Gertrude Hillenbrand was lying on her bed gazing at the actor, who,
despite being nearly three times her age and Canadian, she hoped to
marry. Ah, he was beautiful. Tall. Blond. Angular. Forty three. With a
drink problem. And he smoked. Thinking about the actor, she wondered if
he would marry someone named Gerturde. If anyone would marry someone
named Gertrude. Specifically, her. She feels an intense aching within
her, and sighs loudly.

Thinking of Esterson, Gertrude sighed. Thinking of her older sister.
Esterson. She pities Esterson. Esterson often did things which she
thought made her seem interesting. To Gertrude this was pointless.
Either you were interesting or you weren't. There was very little you
could do to change this. You especially could not change this by
sitting in a bathroom staring down a toilet instead of meeting your
friends. But she digresses.

Gertrude smiled at the Canadian actor. She had been studying his
picture for almost half an hour now, as these thoughts whirred around
her plaited, red-haired head. Gertrude looked at the picture and
noticed how it was slightly faded from the sun caressing it: it gave
the actor more mystique, she thought. Gertrude always thought in these
terms; everything was interesting and nothing was beyond her
attention.

A few more minutes slid by, Gertrude happily imagining the wedding day
that the Canadian actor and herself would no doubt enjoy someday soon.
Her thoughts jerked into the present with the ring of a mobile phone.
At last someone was calling Esterson: maybe now she would stop
posturing in the bathroom and return to normality. Or as normal as you
could get with a girl called Esterson.

*

Epilogue

Esterson Hillenbrand left the bathroom exactly one hour and two minutes
after entering it. The phone call from her friend had fulfilled her
requirement for the day.
Gertrude Hillenbrand rose from her bed exactly one hour, two minutes
and thirty seconds after lying in it. She needed to use the
bathroom.
Gertrude and Esterson didn't speak much.
Esterson often thought that on day she'd have to kill herself. For the
attention. But she didn't.
Gertrude often thought one day she'd get so mad at her sister's
posturing that she'd lash out. But she didn't.

? Michelle Bond 2003