By Veronica Andrek
My nightmare began one cool September evening while residing in my humble single dorm in New Robbins. It was a Friday, so naturally I began my weekend by playing video games well into the night. Outside my door, I could hear the jubilant sounds of raucous partying and mischief, but I paid no mind to it. That is until I felt that most ominous of sensations: a rumbling in my tummy. Being a student here at Bard College, my diet consists primarily of gallons of weak iced coffee, dried out pizza, hard liquor, and of course copious amounts of hot sauce on every meal to give me a vague reminder of how food is supposed to taste. In short, this was a gastrointestinal disaster waiting to happen. I checked the time, seeing it was only about 9 p.m., and decided to wait to use the bathroom. The thought of someone seeing me waddle in my pajamas to the communal bathroom chilled me to my core.
I tried to persevere, but with each passing moment, the rumbling evolved into a deep gurgle. I was about to burst, but the voices in the hall grew louder. Shifting in my bed to try and distract myself, I continued playing my video games. Yet with each virtual gunshot and bomb blast and “kill confirmed!”, my mind could only return to the looming tragedy within my bowels. Finally my will broke, and I slipped on my flip flops and walked out the door, thus sealing my fate.
The hall was empty, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I cautiously walked down the corridor like it was my own personal road into Hell… but I was no Dante. The bathroom door squeaked as I cautiously pushed it, my eyes darting from sink to stall on the lookout for witnesses. The fluorescent lights shimmered upon the suspiciously wet floor, my flip flops unprepared for the concoction of pee pee and sink water that awaited them. Stepping gingerly across the tiles, cringing with each droplet splashing onto my exposed toes, I made my way into one of the stalls.
After my toilet inspection, I frantically gathered a fistful of TP to wipe off any abandoned pubic hair, but to little avail. Resigning in defeat, I lined the porcelain throne with toilet paper in a vain attempt to protect my supple bare flesh from coming in contact with this most disgusting of scenes. Once this phase of the ritual was complete, I slipped my shorts down and prepared for take off. And then someone opened the door to the bathroom.
Footsteps echoed throughout the bathroom, far too many to be simply washing one’s hands. No, this person was looking for something… Me? My intestines ached and bubbled loud enough for my neighbors down the hall to hear. There was no doubt in my mind that this stranger could hear my belly’s whale calls. My breathing grew shallow, uneven, panicked. My face dripped with terror sweat, every drop landing directly upon my bare thighs. My embarrassment had never been greater.
The faucet squeaked, and the water streaming into the sink bowl finally burst the floodgates that was my sphincter. My bowels unclenched, and in an instant a cacophony of sounds erupted from my ass. I relaxed, no longer holding back those most primal and unsettling of impulses. My whole body seemingly emptied itself into this bowl, and suddenly I was alive again. Such unbelievable orgasmic relief captured me in that moment, and then the full knowledge of my error suddenly occurred to me. My nightmare had truly begun.
“Oh geez, who the fuck just did that?”, I heard the stranger grumble. My throat tightened as I tried to hide my flip flop-clad feet from any prying eyes walking past. A cold sweat dripped down my neck. The mysterious figure who was complaining about the sounds of my body simply was not leaving, and my buttcheeks were beginning to grow tired.
I do not remember how long I sat there waiting for them to leave. The pins and needles in my feet and thighs were overwhelming, but the details escape me. I must have blacked out from fear, because I have no idea when the intruder left or how I survived my journey out of that stall to wash my hands, unlike many of my colleagues. No no, I could not allow even the slightest suspicion of me lacking proper hygiene practices, even if I was alone. Then I heard the bathroom door swing open and within seconds, I ran. The lights of the hall seemed so much crueler on my return journey than on my way in. Had this experience hardened me? Had I emerged from that stall a changed woman? I do not yet know, and hope I will never have to find out. I still don’t know who heard the sounds of my tummy crisis that cool September evening. Some nights I fear they are still there, just waiting to catch me.
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