Noxzema
It’s been three weeks since he walked out of my life and I’m finally sick of looking at his toothbrush next to mine. In the bathroom, trashcan in hand, I toss away everything left of his—disposable razors, cologne, dental floss. But an old jar of Noxzema in the back of the medicine cabinet stops me. Was that his, too? It isn’t mine—what the hell would he use it for?
Opening the jar, I take a deep breath. The unique, familiar scent of camphor, menthol, and eucalyptus makes me close my eyes and suddenly I remember our trip to the shore last summer, just the two of us, still new to each other and so in love. A lonely stretch of beach, his pale skin burning a deep red by the end of the day. This jar of Noxzema bought at the first store we found. The two of us back in the hotel, him
