To Find A Cure

When I was a young boy
I would take tremendously long showers
And in those showers I used to mix concoctions
Create potions I was convinced
Would one day cure HIV/AIDS
As my little hands measured out
Equal parts Pert Plus and Head and Shoulders
I would shave razor thin slices of hand soap
Shuttle them into my beaker of toiletries
I would squeeze drops of Arm and Hammer toothpaste
Like pearls that would soon save ravaged New York and Los Angeles
And as the hot water beat against me
I mixed mouthwash with deodorant
As if I got just the right mixture
A sign would arise out of the potion
That would say
“You did it! You found the cure!”
Congratulations!
I would smile and the walls of my childhood bathroom would fall away
I would be revealed to the world’s leading scientists
Bioengineers
Humanitarians
They would all circle around me
Shaking hands
Posing for pictures
Hanging Nobel prizes around my neck like Christmas tree ornaments
None of them seeming to notice the naked physique of an 8-year-old boy

Alas

I remember the final time I attempted to discover the special formula
My older brother had just bought some fancy, expensive new face product
This, I was convinced, was the secret ingredient
The heavenly-ordained addition
That would ensure my place in your history books
Child celebrity
Boy-Wonder
World Savior
I carefully proportioned out
One quarter container liquid hand soap
One quarter container hand moisturizer
And the other half
Unopened “Aftershave”
As I stirred this concoction with my finger
The hot water pummeled down on me
And something, perhaps someone
Knocked the cup out of my hand
It must have been Michelle Bachmann
Or one of those evangelical leaders that hate scientific progress
Regardless of who it was
I recall the cup staying completely upright as it ascended into the air
But at the apex of its journey
It was as if gravity too wanted to play a trick
The side of the cup closest to me
Was yanked toward the earth
The contained liquid of the cup
Proceeded to spill
And it splashed down on my young, unsuspecting privates
Causing an instant burning sensation that felt like napalm

I screamed

And as I screamed I danced under the showerhead
But to no avail
I wailed
I clawed
And I scraped at my crotch
Hoping to stop the spread
Within seconds I was reduced to a quivering mess on the shower floor
I heard the heavy steps of my older brother approach the bathroom
The same bathroom I had locked because scientists need privacy
“What’s wrong Al?” my brother screamed
I didn’t have the courage or consciousness to yell back
All I could do was mutter to myself
“I just wanted to help…”