Ellie: Mom, it drove me crazy how clean you were. I’d be finishing my bowl of Froot Loops, you’d be standing there ready to put my spoon in the dishwasher. You had already folded up the cereal box interior all tidy like origami and put it away. In the morning before school, I just wanted to stare at the cereal box and make it last as long as possible. I hated school. Shit, I hated sitting there being lectured at. I hated it.
Cynthia: I was always clean, even when I was a kid, I’d go around the house cleaning up after everyone. Turning off the lights. My Dad was clean, my Mom no, I used to think if my Mom loved my Dad more she’d clean up more. I swear when I was a baby I was clean. I didn't poop my pants. I didn't.
Ellie: Stop, stop about love, it’s the opposite, the complete opposite. Cleaning is the opposite of love. You'd take me up to Dad’s house every other Friday night, you'd get out the vacuum while I packed my bag. When I’d come back Sunday night, there’d be carpet lines in my bedroom. Everything looked new. You’d put everything away. Half the time I couldn’t find a toy I wanted or something I had left out for a reason. You were cleaning up any trace. If someone came over while I was gone to Dad's, they wouldn’t even know you had a kid. You could say: here’s our guest bedroom. All my toys were put away, everything was clean. I had been wiped away. I wanted to break things, I wanted to make a big pile of papers and crap and see if the mess could last from one time to the next.
Cynthia: One of my roommates told me in college I would clean when I was stressed. I thought she was right for a while. When I got married and had my own house, I realized I loved cleaning with or without stress. For me it’s a ritual. It’s exercise, it’s work, it’s being productive. I always thought it was a sign of love, like my Dad loved me because he was clean and my Mom didn’t love my Dad because he was always cleaning up after her. It was like this: don’t you see your shoes in the middle of the floor, why wouldn’t you just put them away, where they go? If you cared, you’d put them away. Why are your goddamn shoes in the middle of the floor? Who does that?
Ellie: If you cared, you’d leave them right where they are! If you cared, it wouldn’t matter. Shoes are things. Carpet is things. Toys are things. I am a person. I was a person. It felt like you were trying to put me away, like where could you hide me.
Cynthia: I was always so proud of you! You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me!
Ellie: You didn’t show that. I wanted to be your trophy case, if anyone came over, it would be obvious I existed, there would be my stuff, kid stuff everywhere. Barbies, drawings taped to the wall. I wanted a pink and yellow bedroom! Not a grey and green bedroom.
Cynthia: You are my trophy case. I’m delighted to be in your presence. I’ve always felt that. You light up the room.
Ellie: You stuffed me away. One more thing to put in the closet.
Cynthia: When I was dating in college, I’d date these Mormon guys, I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. After about two dates they’d get on my case for not reading the scriptures enough or not fasting. And the thing I’m ashamed of is that I let it get to me, I thought maybe I didn’t deserve their love because I didn’t want to spend all three hours at church plus two hours after at meetings. But the thing is, being clean … one guy I dated for a while, Brian … he would always beat himself up for not being clean enough, because he hated doing the dishes. He would say that the Lord had withheld blessings from him for not being clean enough. I don’t believe that for a second, there’s nothing good or bad about being clean, just a preference … but after he had made me feel bad for not knowing more about Alma the Younger, I enjoyed seeing him feel guilty for not being clean. When he’d get mad at me for not praying enough I used how sloppy he was against him. It felt good.
Ellie: I could care less that I’m dirty. It doesn’t have anything to do with God.
Cynthia: I just like things to be clean. For me, it’s not for God. It’s for me that I’m clean.
Ellie: It bothered you that my toenails were long. Or dirty.
Cynthia: I don’t want to have long toenails. That’s gross. I don’t want to stink. So I was trying to teach that to you.
Ellie: You’re judgmental.
Cynthia: When I was in elementary school, I got teased one time for having yellow socks. I was wearing athletic socks, we called them tube socks, they were supposed to be white. They were yellow for some reason. Two girls by me in class said something. They wondered why my socks were so yellow. I felt so disgusting. It made me mad that my parents didn’t notice and give me clean socks. Another time, in eighth grade, I heard people behind me talking about how greasy my hair was. That’s why I made you shower every night starting in sixth grade. I didn’t want you to get teased like I was. That was love, wanting you to be clean.
Ellie: I grossed you out or something. I was something you wanted to clean, or put away. You were grossed out by your own body, that's on you. Then you wanted me to join your body shame group. I wasn't ashamed of my body.
Cynthia: That’s how I feel about my own body! I’m always cleaning it. I can’t get it clean enough! I’m in the bathroom for ninety minutes every morning. If I could lower myself into bubbling cleanser and wash out all my body cavities and singe off all my hair and just have clean smooth skin I would do it. What if I never had to shave my armpits or trim my nails. That’s a fantasy. Smooth and hairless and not having to clean myself. I'd love to be as smooth as glass.
Ellie: You could accept your body as it is. As it is. Have you tried that. Free yourself from these spiderwebs.
Cynthia: I don’t want to. I know I could … it was part of my personality, stay out of the way, don’t be seen or heard. Certainly not smelled. I didn’t like to be noticed. Being clean is an awareness of that. I'm not here. I was never here. I don't want to be noticed, seen.
Ellie: That’s bullshit. You love attention. You want to be famous. You want your face on a coin. You don't to talk to people, true; but you want to be known and worshipped. Normal people are like me, just acting normal. Fitting in. People like me go unnoticed. We fit in. What makes you stand out is how clean you are. Someone gets in your car and they feel like they have to wipe down the seat with a leather buff when they get out. People think you’re a freak. Your car looks like a coffin it’s so clean. My friend Gwen told me that -- "riding in your mom's car is like being in a coffin."
Cynthia: It’s a sign of respect not to leave evidence of myself everywhere I go. I don’t leave garbage around. If I eat at work I clean up my own dishes. I take out my own garbage. Why should other people have to do that for me? They aren’t my servants. And I’m not their servant. Why should they leave their shit behind for me to clean? Why would they do that. Just put your shit away, it’s not that hard! Do you think I get up from my desk and it's covered in potato chips? No, that doesn't happen. Do you think I eat crackers in bed. Heaven's no.
Ellie: No one notices or cares but you. I walk into a room, I see people talking, I want to talk to them. You walk in you see a leftover soda can. I don’t even notice. It’s not like people are leaving a mess behind to send a message. They don’t know, they don’t care. You’re the one making the big deal out of it.
Cynthia: Oh sure, my co-worker Jeff, a full-blown adult, leaves four Tupperwares in the sink at work and doesn’t notice? When he gets home without his Tupperware, what does he think happened to it. He comes to work the next day, they are all washed and dried and laid out all nice. Does he think: I’m glad I cleaned my own dishes before I left yesterday! Doesn’t he realize someone is cleaning up after him? Does he do that in the toilet, not wipe his own ass, he’s waiting for someone to help him? I feel bad for Jeff's wife, always having to do his dishes and clean up his poo-poo.
Ellie: As if those things are related. I can clean my own butt even if I don’t like to do my dishes.
Cynthia: You don't understand. It's so powerful, such a powerful urge. I just want everything clean, put away. I would stuff the whole universe back into that one atom before the Bing Bang if I could. Put the whole goddamn universe in a thimble. Then wrap the whole thing in Saran Wrap and put it in a freezer sack. Done. I love cleaning. I love to throw stuff away, I love to put it away. It’s a basic desire. Everyone can throw garbage away, that’s easy. But who can throw something perfectly new and good away? I can. I’m strong enough to get rid of stuff that I want, and need! I’d like to set the whole planet on fire and burn it to ash so that everything would be purified and clean and there wouldn’t be anything to put away. Totally sterile. Let me be the one to put the Mona Lisa in the fire. Give me that chance. I would do it. One less piece of garbage clogging up the world.
Ellie: Except after you threw out the Mona Lisa, you'd get hungry and stop at a kiosk and get a chocolate bar that you'd eat and then you'd get a can of Coke and then you’d have to take a dump and it would all start over again. Now you have an aluminum can and a wrapper and a dirty toilet. So you’d have to light it--the whole world!--on fire every day to keep up with the scrap. Just deal with it already. Things are never going to be put away. Never! They will never be put away! Never! Everything is always a mess! Why don’t you get that? How much time have you wasted following people around to put away their mess, except it never gets put away for long. How smart is that? Knowing it will happen again and you waste your time. I thought you were a practical person. You say you are.
Cynthia: It’s an urge. I just want everything gone, away. I want a white slate. When I die, you know what I want to do? You know what?
Ellie: Not this again. I knew we'd end up here again.
Cynthia: Picture it. I start to get old and weak. I’m thin. I can’t eat. Cancer. Throwing up all the time. I’m losing weight. I’m thin. Not drinking, not eating. I know it’s close to the end. I take a final bath. Very hot water. Shave all my hair away, all of it. Shave my pubic hair, my head, my eyebrows, the tops of my fingers and toes. Clean my ears, blow my nose. Take out my contacts. I’m totally hairless and clean. I clip all my nails short. Wait until 3 a.m. I put on a bathrobe and go down to the garbage chute in the hallway. A few final words. I take off the bathrobe and leave it on the floor. I’m totally naked, I’m breathless, it’s almost the end. I spray some olive oil on my body, from a can, and climb into the garbage chute. I oil down the chute itself. I'm sitting there in the chute, running out of energy, using my last calories to hold on to the chute. As I take my last breath my hands slip off the metal edge; I slip away down the garbage chute, down, down and away. Down 20 stories in a garbage chute. Let's suppose I'm still alive, well the 20 story fall should finish me off pretty good. No one has to raise a finger. Not a finger. I’m completely gone, no trace, no body, no garbage behind. They go into my apartment. Everything is white as a sheet. I already gave everything away, everything! All that’s left is my money in the bank, which you get. You don’t have to raise a finger to bury me! I’m gone.
Ellie: Oh my God. But I love you, so I want to bury you, so I make the firemen pull you out of the dumpster, and of course there's some blood and goo in the dumpster that I have to clean, but that's OK. And we take you to a funeral home all nice, and dress you up pretty, and I spend your money on a nice coffin and a nice dress for you, because I love you. And I want everyone to see you, and we have a big party to celebrate your life, and everyone comes, and you know what, they make a mess! And we have a second party the second day! We eat eclairs and sandwiches. I let kids drink chocolate milk, as much as they want! They leave their paper cups everywhere. I give donuts to the kids. I don’t care. I want them to feel comfortable, to eat, to celebrate, all around you, all around where you are. They can leave whatever they want on the floor, I don’t care. It goes on all day. There’s garbage everywhere. Cans, napkins, crumbs. Everywhere. And it’s all for you! That’s what I want. And that’s what you’ll get, because you won’t be able to stop me.
Cynthia: You’d do that for me? It’d be fine if you cremated me. Really. Just get it over with. No need to buy a coffin, figure out what to put me in. You wouldn’t have to put makeup on a corpse. I don’t love the idea of me sitting there in a coffin, taking up all that space. I want to be cremated.
Ellie: Stop. Mom, stop. When you’re dead, I’ll do whatever I want. I’ll leave your coffin open in the funeral home for three days, so whoever can see you. We’ll have a bounce house and balloons. Every kid and cousin in the family will be there. There’s going to be so much food. There’ll be donut glaze all over your coffin. We’ll have barbeque. It’s going to be a mess. For you! I dare you to stop me.
Cynthia: Oh my God, no, don't do that to me. Just cremate me and get it over with.
Ellie: You'll have to outlive me then.
