Our Bodies Red and Sore

Poetrybay's Flash Boulevard 2018
As soon as the movie was over my brother and I would run into our father’s office in the theater he managed. Once there we had to strip down to our underpants and he’d take a bottle of Old Spice from his desk drawer, sit smugly in his big chair, and sprinkle it all over us and rub it in—hair and all. Then we’d get dressed and he’d shake it over our clothes, collect the money from the ticket takers and candy girl and lock it away in the safe and then lock up the theater.
 
Then he’d drive us to our Mother’s. We would be hungry and fearful of our her reaction to “his” smell permeating us. It was nothing new. We’d have to undress outside on the back porch and Mom would throw our clothes in the wringer washer. Then we’d run inside and get in the tub where Mom would scrub our father out of us as best she could all the while complaining about him doing this to annoy her and why did we let him.
 
After we soaked and the water turned cold Mom would come in and sniff us and if we passed the sniff test we could put on our pjs and go to the kitchen table for supper. If we didn’t pass the sniffs it was back for another Ivory soap scrubbing until our bodies were red and sore and Mom’s threats against us and Dad became more serious.

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