The Cleanmaker's Keeper

The day I was unwrapped, I was lifted up to a nose and sniffed deeply. I wondered what I smelled like. I must have smelled good, because I exchanged hands several times and each time felt a large inhalation of breath. I imagined the cleanmakers being happy about my scent and exchanging satisfied words.

That was the day that I came to live in my forever home - a small ceramic tray next to the faucet. It was a cozy tray with small grooves, and that made me happy. You never know where you will end up in the world, but if you have a dish to nest in, you’re well cared for indeed.

I got to know my cleanmakers very well. There was one with the big, rough hands. I always made sure to work up extra suds for Big Rough, to get in around all the creases and calluses. There was the one with the long, polished fingernails. Long Fingernails always took extra care to make sure I was worked in around the cuticles and underneath the rings. The third cleanmaker I took care of was Lovely Hands, who always had smooth skin and whose long, slender fingers seemed to embrace me with each wash.

But my favorite cleanmaker of all was Little Sticky. Little Sticky always had need of me, and came for my assistance more often than the others. Little Sticky’s fingers didn’t wrap all the way around me like the others did, so they used both hands to pick me up most days. Sometimes Big Rough or Lovely Hands would join Little Sticky to help them make sure they got all the stickiness off. I was filled with a deep sense of pride each time Little Sticky walked away from me and was simply Little Hands.

It wasn’t long before all my rough corners had been worn smooth, and my seams disappeared. But as I grew smaller, my accomplishments grew bigger. I was helping the cleanmakers carry their cleanliness out into the world! What greater purpose could there be?

One day, Little Sticky came to grab me, and I slipped out of their hands and fell down into the sink, sliding down one side and up the other like a halfpipe. Little Sticky then grabbed me and dropped me in the sink several more times to watch me glide and spin across the bowled surface. I would have giggled along with Little Sticky if I knew how.

As the days turned, I began to sink further into my cozy tray, feeling myself forming more and more to the grooves of my dish. What a lovely sensation, to grow into your home. As I grew small, my body was no longer recognizable as the substantial bar I had been in the early days. I was merely a whisper of my former self. Although my suds were just as strong, I didn’t fit into my cleanmakers hands as well as I had before.

Toward the end, a companion moved into my tray and joined me. They were a big strong bar like I had once been, and it was reassuring to know that my new friend would maintain the post after I was gone and take care of my cleanmakers. And the company was quite nice. But though I understood, it sometimes ached when Big Rough would pick up my new partner instead and leave me in the tray.

When Little Sticky picked me up a few days later, I knew this was my grand finale. They squished me between their fingers and I worked up my best lather, and with overwhelming pride I turned them into Little Hands one last time before my suds swirled away down the drain forever.