But while I was in the shower, I heard my voice calling you. Not sobbing or crying. But normal. Something I wanted to try I think.
"Dan? Hey Dan?" "Can you bring me my razor?"
I didn't want to keep a razor in the bath tub since Audrey bathes in there but I always forgot to get it before I got in the shower. I'd call that out a couple of times, then hear the door open, feel the cooler air from outside the steamy bathroom, then see my razor peeking in from behind the shower curtain.
"Dan? Can you bring me my razor." I called this morning and at first it felt so good, so normal. I wholeheartedly believed and waited for the sound of the door knob turning.
"Dan? Can you bring me my razor?"
Silence. Tears. Just a few.
I worried that the friends I'm expecting would hear me if they were waiting outside the door. You've called me crazy a few times, but what would they think hearing me ask you to bring me a razor?
I had already washed my hair (with the sample shampoo and conditioner you brought back from the last tour for me because you thought it was a really good one) but I almost got out of the shower without washing myself.
When I got out I strained to see a message you'd written on the big mirror above the vanity in the condensation or steam or whatever. I'm not a scientist. I had written, I love Dan Cho. We hadn't mentioned it but a few days later after my shower I'd seen. "Daddy loves Mommy and Audrey."
I know I've since cleaned that mirror- me and my stupid cleaning disorder. But I still searched for any remnant of it. Maybe a little piece of a letter I missed when I wiped it down.