Pulling the little lever under the soap dispenser and the pink liquid oozes down onto his left palm. It's like a pearl, moving, dynamic. Then it spreads its wonder under the warm, flowing water of the sink as I lather the soapy foam on both hands. The slippery feeling, the warm bath, the wet exhilaration. Everything. Including the sound of the water running and the hands rubbing together. All this with the goal of cleaning, sanitizing. The feeling that after this simple process my hands would be clean makes me happy. I can enjoy it without fail. I can just feel good about it.
And then I shut off the water once all the bubbly pearly foams have disappeared, and with my hands still dripping with water, I reach for the dry towel and a new and final feeling of cleanliness soars in my soul. Now my hands are damp, so they feel cool in the air. But before that finality, being embraced by the dry towel is like being wrapped in a towel that had just come out of the dryer.
Now my hands are clean and a short episode of life is complete.
