Pounded From Behind

I know it was my cousin but all of the sorrow coupled with my own was already beginning to overwhelm me. As the day rolled on, I struggled to keep my composure among the assault of emotion that were all around me. When the dinner break came, I was incredibly grateful. Stepping out of the funeral home, I took a deep breath of the frigid, cold air into my lungs. The events of the day had left me with very little appetite but I still forced myself to eat.When my phone rang and it was my boyfriend, I could not help but think thank god I am going to have a shoulder during the night service. Little did I know I would have so much more than just his shoulder to cry on. After dinner, we all headed back for the night service. On the short ride back, I tried to prepare myself. When we got back, I sat down on couches along one wall of the room. My boyfriend sat down on one side of me and my mother sat down on the other. There was this piano concerto coming out of the radio. Suddenly I heard a. The boys' room, just across the hall! Not the most romantic place, but intriguing. He grabbed her hand and quickly led her there. A sound escaped her, as he pushed the heavy door with the stenciled man, but she shut her mouth to any protest.Fortunately, the toilets were clean to clinical standards, and smelled of detergents, slightly citric. A decidedly pleasant smell. Thought Aliasa, but it might begin to get irritating after awhile. The toilet was a temple of this time: glass and metal, ceramic and tile, plastic and synthetic chemicals of smells and soaps. Conceivably, it was even romantic, if you forget its purpose. Or even if you do: a temple to bodily function.Exactly like the girls', thought Aliasa, huge mirrors reflecting their images. Save for the urinals. They felt odd to her, built for the male anatomy, like her? Who was that artist who assembled a urinal, or was it a commode, in a museum, labeling it art? I guess it was art, Aliasa supposed, a pale imitation of life. She.
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