Take me back...

One pump and the smooth, clear gel slides smoothly into my hand. The scent wafts up and I smell 21. I smell a cheap, brown laminate counter. A sink in the bedroom instead of the bathroom. Not the usual set up, but it works well for 4 college co-eds living in a small, cheap apartment. I smell my Ever After soundtrack filling the room. The music fills the empty places inside me. I smell the miracle of cinder blocks, strategically placed under the four legs of my bed. It's amazing what another 12 inches can create in the way of storage space. I smell the narrow, steep stairs where I sit at the top with the phone pressed to my ear. I reassure my recently ex-boyfriend that we really aren't getting back together. I smell cleaning checks, completed after midnight with the help of a blow dryer to defrost the ice encrusted freezer. I smell a dishwasher so small I thought it was a trash compactor. I smell Pepsi-Loo and roommate prayer. I smell a little black Audi named Pepe. I spent a lot of time zipping around Provo as a passenger in Pepe. I smell a home with dark green carpet on Navajo Ln. and another home with orange carpet on Foothill. A knock on the door jolts me back to the bathroom sink. "Mom! I need to go potty!" As I turn off the water and dry my hands, I consider the letter I will never write:

Dear Softsoap,
Thanks for the memories.
Sincerely,
Amanda