Clorox

My boyfriend has replaced the baby wipes in my purse with Clorox wipes. He must have used the last one, even though I know he never cleans his hands; it’s something I used to beg of him, knowing that whatever sticky residue he brought in would be left on my phone, my keys, or the car steering wheel I’m staring at now. Smudged fingerprints glance off in the sunlight that is streaming through my windshield from the fast-food parking lot outside. When I go to use a wipe, it stings my skin. It stings the place on my left hand where the ring should be but isn’t. Especially hurts there. The lemon scent stuffs itself up my nose and overtakes my small sphere of awareness, demanding every ounce of my concern. Expecting it, really, because after years of keeping your household clean with Clorox, why wouldn’t you want to clean your hands with it? When he proposed last night, my boyfriend hardly even bothered to get down on one knee. Instead he crouched, a half-kneel of sorts, and met my eyes with his dark, unbreakable gaze. The smile on his face turned it sideways, a crooked expression too lazy to meet his eyes.

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The chemicals have begun to wear away layers of me that would have lasted months, maybe years. If I keep using these wipes I will begin to rot, I think. I will lose all my skin and become something raw and oozing, painful to the touch and stinking up the places I go. The lunch I ate alone in my car has smeared on my face and my fingers, and I’ve made a mess. I give in to the lemon disinfectant, and I gently wipe the baby-skinned hands and face that allowed me to enjoy my food but could not keep me from getting stained. 99.9% of my germs have been eliminated. I am new.

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The canvas bag of my purse rubs the wrong way when I return the wipes. Catching on my skin, a rigid fixture holding a pear-shaped diamond in place snags the knuckle of my ring finger and slices it open. Leftover disinfectant floods the opening, sending waves of pain up my finger and into my arm. I leave it open, letting the sting set in as I begin the drive back home.