All Write, Already!

The first time I ever used a laxative I was 21. I was in the Air Force, and I'd been what my grandmother would euphemistically call "backed up" for about six days.

Strangely enough, long-term constipation is part and parcel of the military experience. When I went through basic training, I (along with forty of the fifty other people in my basic training flight) was so stressed out by the pressures of basic that I was unable to defecate for about four weeks. That's twenty-eight days. All of us in the flight celebrated our respective inaugural poops with much cheering. But I digress.

Basic training had been over for a year, though, and six days was far too long a time for me to deal with near-crippling abdominal pains, so I decided to do something about the situation. I went to the base shoppette (it's a little convenience store-type deal), and bought a box of Ex-Lax. After I'd queued up to purchase my remedy, though, it occurred to me that perhaps I should have picked up some other things so that the Ex-Lax wasn't immediately obvious. It was too late for that, because now there were about six people lined up behind me.

The cashier didn't say anything to me about the laxatives, but she looked me in the eyes with that solemn, knowing look of shared misery. Ugh.

When I returned to my barracks room, I didn't read the directions, I just popped three of those chewy squares and grimaced my way through eating them. I'm not sure what I expected, but I think I figured it would be nearly instantaneous, so I was disappointed initially. About twenty minutes later, disaster struck.

My large intestine turned into a churning engine of hate. The rumblings and twistings were so loud that my neighbor thumped on our shared wall to quiet me down, but to no avail. I was seized by an irresistible urge to run for the toilet NOW. What could I do but give in?

I made it to the toilet just in time. My body unleashed a foul torrent of concentrated evil, with such force that I felt the sides of my skull collapse inward a bit from the suction. For nearly an hour I was trapped in the bathroom, with my neighbor calling out to see if I needed an ambulance, if someone had died in the bathroom. The sickening stench of my horrible deed permeated the walls, and would occasionally return on humid days to gag me once again.

I stood up from the smoking, vile remains of my act and flushed them away, like a murderer trying to conceal his crimes. I felt weak and tired, with fluttering knees and a sad heart. The only way to cleanse my body was to shower, so I did, but I knew that it was only my skin that was clean. My soul would never be clean again.