Gabe
Urine
I had just unzipped my fly as the door swung open; out of the corner of my eye I could see the child run in, he was black, maybe five feet tall. My urination was interrupted as the child, panting wildly, took his place in the urinal next to me. This was bothersome to me partially because I felt uncomfortable exposing myself at the approximate eye line of a child, and partially because it broke the unspoken law of urinal use; when a urinal is in use, one should try to urinate as far away from that urinal as possible. Maybe he was just disregarding the rule, maybe it was just foolish youth, but here the child stood, bumping elbows with me as we urinated in what could only be called synchrony. As I stood there looking down at my feet, I couldn't help glance up slightly at the bright yellow urine that splashed into the neighboring toilet bowl. It would not be considered paranoid to worry about the child, who seemed to be dancing up and down, losing control, possibly, worst-case scenario, spraying my foot with his clearly dehydrated urine. Still looking down at my right foot, I awkwardly scooted it closer to my urinal, out of range of his urine. He was wrapping up now, I knew this not because I was looking at him, but because he, after zipping up his cargo pants, took a step back and turned to look at me. For what seemed like an eternity I stood there peeing, while the boy, visible out of the corner of my eye, stood there watching me, hands in pockets. What was he doing? I thought to myself, why is he just standing there? Now finished urinating, I turned away from the boy and zipped up my fly. We washed our hands in silence and went our separate ways.
