by Dawn Corrigan

My mother's toilet was a deep burgundy color, like blood, or wine, or the leaves of a Japanese maple. The other fixtures--the sink and tub--were burgundy too. It was a small bathroom, in a small, unassuming house, but the burgundy appurtenances gave it a glamorous air.

Plus, you know, that nice dark vitreous china hid the shame of bathroom stains pretty well.

Eventually I grew up and moved away. I moved to Bronxville and then I moved to Gainesville and then I moved to Clarksville and then I moved to Huntsville.

Everywhere I went--white toilets. Or sometimes, metal. But mostly it was an endless sea of white.

Every now and again, though, usually in old movie theaters, I would see a colored toilet. Almost always it was pale pink. The sight of that rose colored porcelain, which called to mind grandmother's lipstick, crumpled tissues, artificial flowers, a certain dusty scent, and the years 1948 and 1972, only served to remind me of the uniqueness, the superiority, of my mother's burgundy throne.

I went home to Pleasantville for a visit. At first all was as it should be--there were mother and father and brother, and my trophies and plaques hanging on the walls in my old room.

Then I had to use the bathroom. I turned on the light and saw that the burgundy toilet was gone. Replaced by an ordinary white toilet, with a plastic seat cover.

"What the hell?" I asked Mother.

"Oh that," she said. "I meant to tell you. The toilet broke. We called the plumber but he said he couldn't replace the burgundy, that it was too rare, no one makes them like that anymore. It might have cost thousands of dollars to find a replacement, it might have to be shipped from overseas. So we told him to go ahead and put the white one in."

"Oh," I said.

I did my business, and life moved on. I returned to Huntsville after my visit. But I found myself thinking about the toilet. Had it really been broken beyond repair? Or had the plumber seen an opportunity and taken it?

These were foolish thoughts, I knew, and I didn't like them. But people will take so much from each other. The shoes off their feet, the gold fillings out of their teeth. And nowadays everyone knows exactly how much everything is worth. People enter neighbors' houses and view their dusty knicknacks with an appraiser's eye.

Mother called. "The funniest thing just happened," she said. "Your father was out in the front yard watering the flowers, when a man from Smithville stopped his car and said he'd give us six grand for the Japanese maple."

See what I mean?

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