I'm sitting in my white bathtub as my dad rinses the suds out of my hair. I loved bath time when I was little. All clean and soft, free of the grime that seems to follow young children like ants follow a trail of crumbs.  If we were lucky the towels would go into the dryer before I was done. Their warmth didn't just warm my skin but also my soul. There were tricks, too. My dad would make a fist and put a glob of soap on top. Then, with a swift movement and a soft breath, a bubble would magically appear. The one thing I hated was washing my hair. My greatest fear was shampoo getting into my sensitive eyes and the “tear-free” label on the bottle always mocked me.  So, I bend my head all the way back to make sure no soap gets into my eyes.  The water runs over my brown wispy hair and soaks all the way through. It's the hair of a child, not fully developed and it sits like a halo around my head when dry. Wet, it becomes slick against my scalp. Suds-free I look around the cerulean blue bathroom. 

The fish wallpaper traces a strip around all four walls and looks like a coral reef shelf with clownfish and yellow tangs, the complete rainbow represented by printed fish. The hue of the walls succeeds in its purpose and it makes me feel like I am underwater, a soft blue cast reflects off the walls.

 My brother squeals as my dad rinses his oil-slick black hair. After we seem as clean as sticky little kids can get, he pulls the drain. He scoops up my brother with a warm brown hooded towel that resembles a monkey as the water slowly leaves the tub. The soapy water circles the drain. He takes him out in the hall and I am left alone in the tub with about two inches of water.

I look around when, all of a sudden, I am surrounded by a glossy film. I feel myself start to rise in the air. I am floating! I am in a bubble. It's thin and doesn't seem very strong, like my weight is testing its capacity but nonetheless, I am hovering. I take in the sensation and time is suspended while I am suspended in the air.  Complete joy swells in my chest and I'm in shock. After the few seconds of bliss, the bubble pops and I am back down in the tub with a small splash. The drop hurts a little and makes me feel like  I will have trouble sitting tomorrow because of a bruise. 

My eyes are wide as my dad comes to wrap me in my own warm towel. This one is a vibrant yellow and resembles a sweet duckling. I'm brought into the hall and cannot help but share my crazy adventure. As the words leave my mouth, they hear but no one understands. They really don't believe. I explain again and again but they say I'm lying and it's killing me. It's just too outlandish and I understand now, but why did it all have to be a dream?