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A toilet is a handy piece of porcelain with heavenly multifunction. It takes shit. Lets shit sit.  It disintegrates shit with its clear waters (or turquoise blue waters if you drop in an odor eater), and when the shitee (or person forced to remove the dirty work) pulls its handy lever, the toilet water spins and spins, flushing the shit into an abyss.  

Toilets are so heavenly multifunctional that they are worshiped all across the world.  American college students praise toilets every week from Thursday to Saturday.  They embrace its unsanitary hardness and spend their nights mumbling chants and words of forgiveness to the Porcelain Gods. In the Dominican Republic, campesinos pray their new and improved and assumingly rich American relatives will bless them with a shiny, white toilet. Squatting over their wooden latrines wears out their legs. They just want to sit their asses on the cold, ceramic flap of a toilet. They want to enjoy the feeling of taking a shit without fearing giant cockroaches might crawl up their assholes. 

Unfortunately, like most heavenly amazing things, toilets have their faults.  They’re not so great when they’re clogged up.  Shits of shits past resurface and refuse to disappear. The diarrhea, the pellets of constipated poop, and the healthy soft ones shaped like half moons all rise up, topple over, and cause a nasty, smelly mess.  That’s when I, among others, run far, far away. When shit reemerges, no one wants to take on the cleanup work.

I decided to grab a plunger and stop running away from my shitty mess after Kurt dumped a big one the day of Carlos’ wedding.  Kurt stood by the bar, ogling me, as I danced with his (former) college friend, Jack.  My butt almost hit the ground when dancing “Do The Brown” and Kurt’s glare intensified like my ass was his ass forever and always, shit and all.  The music finally stopped, and I stopped dancing. Kurt slowly relocated himself toward the back of the restaurant and sat atop a long, wooden table.  I knew I had to confront him.  I had to clean up the feces that had accumulated over a decade.  I sauntered over, calm yet unyielding, to begin the unclogging. But he beat me to it. 

“Lets take a walk,” Kurt stated with power and authority. 

I shook my head, adamant to clean up this crap without any of his smooth, sweet talking diversions. 

“Why wont you take a walk with me?” he asked upsettingly. He almost sounded offended, hurt. 

“Fine.  Let’s go,” I replied, caving into his demands. 

We slid passed the jovial crowd and the lovely bride and groom. The bride gave me a concerned look; she didn’t want me to deal with Kurt’s dookie either.  I smiled and nodded, signaling that everything was under control, as Kurt and I made our way to the dark and isolated backside of Tatiana’s Restaurant. 

“We need to talk,” I started patiently. 

“Lets go upstairs,” Kurt commanded.  He was still trying to get me into bed, though there was no bed in sight.  

“You haven’t changed-“

“I’ve slowed down,” Kurt interrupted, in an effort to reassure me. 

“How would you treat me afterwards, if we have sex?”  I retaliated confidently.  The shit was about to pour.   

“The way I do now,” Kurt responded bluntly.  

“No thanks.”  I looked away, wondering if I should walk away or continue plunging forward.  I kept plunging.  “You had the chance to have sex with me in D.C. and you didn’t take it, so you obviously didn’t want it.”

A wedding guest strolled passed us holding an unlit cigarette in his right hand.  Kurt stopped him and asked for one.  He glanced over at me while grabbing the cigarette and motioned to the back exit with his chin.  I agreed and followed him outside. He lit the cigarette, kissed the tip with his lips, inhaled, and spoke. 

“D.C. had nothing to do with attraction.  I’m attracted to you.  I just still have a hard time separating sexual Sujeiry from virginal Sujeiry.  I didn’t know how to approach it…so I did nothing.”  Kurt blew out a cloud of smoke.  I stood there, relieved that our yet to be consummated ten year rollercoaster relationship was due to his clogged up mentality.  Well, partially.  I still had my own poop to unblock. 

“It’s hard for me not to see you as the guy who hurt me, the player.  I could have initiated something when I went to visit, but I didn’t.  I couldn’t even bring myself to cuddle with you on the couch, and I’m an affectionate person.  We obviously have intimacy issues…” My voice trailed.  The crap was spilling over.

“You have feelings for me,” Kurt declared abruptly.  I looked away, unsure of how to proceed.

“I care about you Sujeiry.  I will always contact you.  You will be in my life forever.  I can’t imagine you not being in my life.”  Kurt continued. For the first time, he was being sincere.  No bullshit.

“I care about you too.  I love you. I really do.” 

Kurt averted my gaze, flicked his cigarette, and stepped on the budding flame. 

“Lets go inside,” he responded in a cool and detached tone.  I nodded and followed him reluctantly. Predictable, emotionally blocked Kurt had freed himself from the backed up shit he carried, for only a moment. And now the reeking mess was back.  We flushed it down, but it somehow got caught in the pipes and made its way back.  But I wasn’t giving up.  I am as stubborn as the American college students who refuse to let go of their Porcelain God’s grip.  As stubborn as the Dominican campesinos who cajole their almost gringo relatives to mount a brand new toile.  Next time, I would just try harder to bring it all to the surface.  Next time, I would grab that handy plunger, and pump, pump, pump, till we were both finally cleansed.