other uses for latex

the hallway outside my office smells strongly of latex paint, that distinct smell of refurbishment. it flashes me back to junior high, when i was given the dubious honor of lead painter on the tech crew building and decorating the sets for a play i was also in (hillbilly wedding, where i played the ugly and delusional older sister). it was, as always, a rudimentary set. three connected flats building the top contours of a trapezoid; the main focus of the walls was a grand painted window in the center, created by me. twice. the play itself was in two acts, each act taking place at a different time of day. having finally chosen to pay attention to this little detail, it occurred to the director two days before we opened that we ought to have a night pastoral to convey the night that the second half took place in.

i remember laboring over the second window, an overlay, 36 hours before the show went up, agonizing over every little detail to be certain that the two versions matched. i used tempera paint, the type ubiquitous to every public high school under the sun. my hands smelled like eggshells and kindergarten paste, and were covered in streaks of green, flecks of blue and yellow. the flats still smelled strongly of their recent coat of brown latex paint; i smelled like it too by the time i left that building for the night. in that time i'd developed an appreciation for it. it seeped into the spaces between my clothes and my skin, perfuming me in my own personal miasma, my funk of creativity. i wore it like a badge. suffused by it, i felt as though i'd finally arrived, that i was finally a real and integral part of our scrappy little department.

in the hours leading up to opening night, i set up camp in the cramped backstage area, studying my lines and drinking a mystic cranberry grape drink, revelling in the smell, revelling in the knowledge that i'd been a part of it, folded into a corner in the house i'd created and feeling, somehow, powerful.