How many days can I go without a shower? 

I ask myself this as I fill pots with water, and arrange them on the counter, creating a strange sort of art. I have twenty more minutes.

When Brian got the message last night, we got the boys filling buckets then I took the longest shower I could.

This morning, I awoke to a call from a friend echoing the message we received last night. “Get ready,” she told me. Her voice was hurried. “The water will be off for four days.” Four days. But will it be? We never know what to expect. We’ve had water outages without warning, like the one last week, and times we’ve been warned but the water hasn’t gone off. 

I hope they’re overestimating. 

In the kitchen filling pots, I imagine my friend doing the same in her own home, just blocks away.

How many people in this city of millions are doing exactly as I am? 

I wash the last few dishes, then fill the sink with clean, fresh water. I watch the flow, it’s force as it pushes through the pool, the bubbles that swirl and pop. Two days from now this stream will be hard to remember. I let the water spill over my hands – cool and soft as it falls between fingers.

I savour this feeling. My hands will never really feel clean until water runs over them again.

Despite experiencing it daily, I never knew how refreshing water flowing over my hands was, until I moved to China and experienced a few years when water outages were so frequent we always had buckets full. Showers were often only a trickle. But China’s infrastructure has improved and memories of times without water lay dormant. Until now. They’re springing up: the film over my hands that won’t wash away, being in the shower all soaped up when the water turns off, forgetting for a moment and turning the tap to find nothing, the tension of not knowing when it will turn on.

“We’ll do our best,” I said and Brian nodded – our agreement not to take our tension out on each other. 

I fill the last pot, wondering how much we’ll use in four days.

I can’t guarantee we have enough, but I go on with my day.

“Finish your morning routine,” I urge my daughter.

She steps toward the bathroom, then says, “Almost all of it uses water.” I nod. 

“We can do this,” I tell myself, and I think of villages not far away, and countries not far away, where running water is scarce. I remember a friend right in the city, who had no running water in her apartment. The bathroom she used was shared by those on her floor, and a shower, if she was willing to share, was a ten minute walk away. I think of her hair pulled back, stiffened by grease, and I realize it’s good for me to go without, at times, it reminds me how much I really have.

I go on with my day, then realize I haven’t brushed my teeth. It’s five minute past the time, but it may not be turned off yet. I run to the bathroom relieved to find running water still. I brush, then once more let water rush over my hands. 

 

View Running Water, a drawing inspired by this post. 

photo by pippalou