C.W.

When I opened my medicine cabinet, it shouted, "Howdy!" 

I quickly peered out to my bedroom TV, but it was off, and I didn't hear any other noises.  

I yawned and decided my eyes must have closed and put me back into dreamland for a second. 

I reached for my brand-new tube of toothpaste. The red tube vibrated every-so-slightly in my hand and asked, "What ‘cha doing today, young feller?"  

I dropped it. 

"Dang! That hurt!" it cried. 

"Stupid dream," I muttered and began blinking my eyes and pinching my arm hard. 

"It ain't no dream," the toothpaste tube told me, "I'm a fer-real sentient bein', sure as shootin'. I just came alive when you opened up the cabinet. Now kin you git me off this here floor, please?" 

I grabbed the tube off the floor, grabbed my brush, and stomped into the kitchen where I wetted the brush and dumped out a bunch of baking soda, some of which got on the brush. I scrubbed my teeth and tongue thoroughly, spit, then got myself a glass of water.  

"Why didn't you just use me?" asked the tube. I couldn't understand how it could speak without a mouth. Or a brain. 

"I wouldn't use you if you were the last tube of toothpaste on Earth!" I exclaimed. Just think what your toothpaste might do to me. I might start talking like you, or who knows who!" 

"You got somethin' agin' the way I talk?" he drawled. 

"You sound like a hick from an old Western show," I told him plainly. 

“So?” he asked sharply, “Lots of folks talk like me.” 

“Not around here, they don’t.” I looked in my trash and found the box and receipt for the toothpaste thinking I’d return him after work. 

“Maybe you don’t care for me so much,” sighed the tube, "I was a’ hopin’ you’d take me out into the world with you. I’d love to see what goes on out there. 

I ignored him, and while I washed my face and brushed my hair, I thought about calling the cops. I quickly came to the conclusion that if I called the cops, I’d probably be thrown in an insane asylum. 

“If I introduce you to a friend of mine, will you agree to talk to them like you talk to me?” It was just a bud of an idea. I didn’t actually have any friends. 

“Well,” the tube said, “I don’t think that’s a good idear. If more people knew about me, they’d probably lock me up in some laboratory and study on me. I don’t want no part of that!” 

I just glared at him for a minute. 

“I can tell you’re angry,” he said. 

“I don’t need this,” I told him. “You’ve totally screwed up my morning.” Once I had read in a book that having a fixed morning routine was the key to success. Ever since then, I started every morning the same way, and ended my day the same way, unless I had special plans. I hadn’t had any special plans for a long time, though. 

When I had eaten, I still had an hour before lunch. I usually read the morning paper online at that time, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with his whining. I went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet door. 

“Whoo-ee!” he exclaimed, “It’s dark and stuffy in there! I’m sure obliged to you fer gettin’ me out!” 

I wondered how he knew it was dark and stuffy in the cabinet. Where were all these feelings coming from?” 

“I got a great idear for us today, my friend,” he said. 

I rolled my eyes and asked, “And what would that be?” 

“How about we go put a little of my paste on the brush of somebody you don’t like so much?” he suggested with a chuckle, “Then you’d find out if my paste was a good thing or a bad thing. You’d get a kick out of it, sure as shootin’!” 

A grin crept over my face. My mind ran with the idea: Mac, a burly, grumpy guy at work really got on my nerves. He was constantly interrupting my morning reports to say things like, “What is the relevance of this?” and “Can we move along now?” I walked by his house every day on my to work. 

Walking down the sidewalk with the tube in my pocket, my palms were sweating. “Hi, Mac!” I said enthusiastically when he opened his door. “I need to talk to you about something important about the company.” 

“So, tell me at the office, then,” he growled and started to shut the door. 

I stuck my foot in. “Somebody might hear at the office. This is top secret!” 

Mac opened the door and motioned me towards his living room. “You have two minutes,” he growled. 

With as much panic as I could muster, I spit out, “HR is hiring illegal aliens to work in the factories!” I cried. 

Mac glared at me and then smacked his head. “You idiot. Everybody knows that.” 

“Look,” I said, “I really got to use your bathroom.” 

He pointed grimly toward his bathroom and told me to hurry up and then get out. 

I burst into the bathroom, saw his toothbrush, put a dab of paste on it, flushed, ran water over my hands and ran out" 

“See you later, Mac!” I called.  

I ran the rest of the way to work and got all red, winded, and sweaty. I was 40 minutes early. I cooled off in the breakroom until I could clock in. My only hope was that Mac would believe he’d already taken out his toothbrush and put paste on it. Wait—what if his paste was a different color? The man was HUGE. He could snap me in half like a toothpick. I started shaking. 

“It’ll be OK, pard," Mr. Sentient said soothingly. 

“I’m going to die,” I told him. 

I was the first one at my desk. I pretended to look through a stack of papers I couldn’t concentrate on. Mac walked in. He didn’t look at me when he passed my desk, which was perfectly normal. 

At 9 am, those of us in administration and management went to the meeting room. At last, I would get to hear Mac speak! When the boss asked for the marketing report, Mac cleared his throat and then meowed. It was not a “meow” like a human would say, but actual cat-speak, mostly it was a whine. We all sat and stared at him for a moment until the boss asked, “Do you need to out, Hon?” Mac nodded and made a beeline for the door, closing it behind him. 

The boss giggled a little. “Well,” she said, “I guess Mac is trying to make a statement of some sort. Or maybe he’s just surprising us with a new marketing strategy.” 

“Maybe he’s lost his mine,” said Wendy. 

“I doubt it,” said the boss, “Let’s move on. 

Mac was not in the office for the rest of the morning. At lunch, I walked home so I could commiserate with the only guy I could commiserate with. I decided to establish a relationship. 

“What’s your name?” I asked. 

“Clean and White.” 

“But all tubes of toothpaste like you are called “Clean and White.” Don’t you want a unique name?” 

“C.W. is fine.”. 

“Well, look, C.W., I’m really in a bind here. Mac’s going to remember me coming over to his house, and he’s going to think about whether he put that paste on his tube or not.” 

“He caint talk none about it,” said C.W. 

“He has hands, buddy. He can write.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” 

“The first thing I need to is get rid of you,” I told him. 

“Now hold on, pardner! I thought we was friends!” 

“You are evidence, buddy. Evidence of an unspeakable crime.” I got out the box and receipt. I slipped a crying C.W. into the box and into my pocket. We went to the store, I returned him, and went to the office. Mac never came back to the office again.  

When I get lonely in the evenings, sometimes I go to my medicine cabinet and open it. Nobody says anything, though.