A STORY by CLAUDIA MALLEA
Toothbrush Bluebeard
Spotting a toothbrush labeled with her name on it in Ben’s bathroom, Marisol was hit with two contradictory feelings, tenderness and curiosity. On one hand she felt pleased to be a named entity in Ben’s life, on the other hand she wondered why her toothbrush needed a label. It implied she was not his only overnight visitor. They had only been dating a couple months and Marisol occasionally went on dates with other people, but no one she would let stay over.
Though they hadn’t yet discussed monogamy she had assumed he was in the same boat. She didn’t investigate on that bathroom trip though. She flushed, washed her hands and came back out. She offered to wash some dishes and was turned down. She sat at Ben’s kitchen table, which also served as his desk, and chatted half-heartedly as he washed dishes, thinking of the toothbrush.
Ben was oddly fastidious about certain things. She remembered the first time she noticed him roll a condom over a sex toy that wasn’t going to penetrate either of them. She was mostly shocked at the expense of it since he used nicer than usual condoms that he clearly sought out specifically. The only condoms she had were picked up from her old dorm, her gynecologist’s office, or the anarchist collective bookstore. She considered telling him a wash between uses would suffice. It wasn’t until she remembered it on the way home that she had thought of what it might imply.
A couple hours later she rolled away from him, and said “I should pee”
In the bathroom she saw her name on the toothbrush and remembered her suspicion. It was a noticeably well stocked bathroom, what she affectionately called a leftist boy bathroom, full of things useful to people other than Ben like Narcan or tampons. Such things covered the toilet tank, sink, and a small table. Marisol had never looked under the sink or in the medicine cabinet. But she couldn’t stop herself now from crouching in front of the sink and swinging the door open. She spotted a large acrylic box she recognized as having come from Muji, like the round plastic doodad in which her toothbrush sat. She stood washed her face with Ben’s expensive but gentle cleanser. She managed to suppress her curiosity and returned to bed. They made out a bit before rolling to face away from each other and falling asleep. Marisol jerked awake at seven, by the watch she had accidentally left on her wrist. Ben slept peacefully next to her. she had to pee and instantly remembered her suspicions from the night before. She rushed through her usual silent morning prayer and hurried to the bathroom. She fetched her daily pill box out of her purse on the way to the bathroom, so covered in stickers that the day of the week could barely be made out. She peed and washed her hands before bending down to get the box from under the sink. She placed it inside the sink and popped it open. there were toothbrushes, At least five, all neatly labeled in Sharpie, all girl names (Anna, Niamh, Shirin, Mary). Under the toothbrushes were other items. Marisol spotted teeth and her blood ran cold. she regretted snooping even while feeling validated in her suspicions. On second inspection, the teeth were a set of dentures set in unsettling plastic gums the color of a women’s razor. There was also a medical alert bracelet. Marisol didn’t read the details but made out a name, Mary, like the toothbrush. There was also a continuous glucose monitor. Marisol had once had a diabetic boyfriend and recognized it. Why was this box full of other people’s medical supplies?
Marisol popped open the morning section of her pillbox and swallowed the pills with water from one of Ben’s little paper cups. She had only packed morning meds so she’d have to be home by noon. It was already almost eight. She returned to bed, finding him awake. He reached for her but she couldn’t pretend not to be freaked out. so, she pulled away and asked “Do you have other women sleeping over?”
“No, not at the moment,” he answered. “Would it bother you if I did? We’ve never talked about monogamy.”
She thought, choosing her words carefully.
“It wouldn’t bother me if you were fucking other people, I figured you were. But I wouldn’t want you carrying on other relationships.”
“I'm going on dates but nothing else serious.”
“If no one else is staying over, why label my toothbrush?”
“So I don’t use it and remember to put it away”
“I think I should leave. I don’t know if we should keep seeing each other,” Marisol blurted out.
It wasn’t just the box; Ben was a really lousy boyfriend. Marisol had tried to start the monogamy and commitment conversation many times over but he simply refused to engage. She had been in this plight in previous relationships and didn’t want to let it linger any further. She had once steadfastly refused to read into her boyfriend's refusal to get tested for STIs for months until he broke up with her over the phone.
“And right at the three-month mark. When everyone always walks out of here,” Ben said bitterly.
“Yes, they walk out without their teeth,” Marisol finally said.
“I thought it might be coming to that. Niamh had just gotten new dentures. Her dentist is right around the corner so I picked her up. She slept over. In the morning she went to wash up and came back in the new dentures saying she didn’t think things were working out. She left before I could say anything.”
“And you didn’t try to give her teeth back?”
“She didn’t want to see me. They usually don’t.”
“Why do you think it works out that way?”
“I don’t know. I've been trying to figure that out.”
“Did you love them?”
“How should I know?”
“Who else could?”
“I’ve been talking about it in therapy. I'm trying to figure this pattern out.” Ben replied.
That was the final straw. Never had Marisol known someone so self-aware yet so stupid, She left silently, without so much as a look back, closing the door behind her. In that moment, hands on the doorknob, Marisol realized she had left her pillbox on the sink.
Claudia Mallea (she/her/ella) is a writer/archivist/librarian from Brooklyn, NY. Her work in archiving has helped cultivate writing practice documenting and contextualizing her lived experience. Her writing practice includes stories, essays, academic writing and op-eds. Her work has been featured in a NYC theater production, in Raw Lit, and in various other internet places. She is a member of the NY Caring Majority, a coalition of care workers, older adults and people with disabilities advocating for fair pay for care workers, and an ambassador to The Bee Foundation.