The Dirty Soap

So it was, I think, last Saturday where I woke up, went to the bathroom, and saw a bar of soap on the soap dish on the tub.  It wasn't new.  It was used -- like, real used.  There were spots of dirt on it, and dust on it, and parts of it were stained in brown for some damn reason.

I'm guessing Father looked at the bar of soap that was there.  It was thin, but it had a few more trips around my body before it disintegrated into nothing.  And yet he thought that I could use another bar of soap.  But this one?

I mean, has anyone seen a dirty bar of soap?  Yeah, I know that soap makes dirty bodies clean, but the soap does that by, you know, sacrificing itself, you know?  You wear away the soap on the sweaty parts of your body in order to make yourself clean.  That's how a bar of soap gets smaller.  But when you use a bar of soap, you never see the bar get dirty, right?  Well, I guess if you had your hands in the dirt after gardening or in oil and grease over working on your car, that stuff will get onto the bar.  But this is different, man, you should've seen it.  It was real damn dirty.  And when I used it, I swear I got a sliver.  How in the hell do you get a sliver holding a bar of soap?

And yeah, I'm dancing around the fact that I used it all day.  In any other situation, I would stay the hell away from it like it was the devil.  But Father gave it to me to use.  What was I supposed to do?  What I did was aggressively use the soap in the hopes of wearing away the dirty parts of it.  I used my nails to scrape off parts of the soap with the dirt and the stains.  It still wasn't enough.  I think my hands were clean.  They smelled ... OK.  But I couldn't get over the thought that I cleaned my hands with dirty soap, so I am not being objective, not in the least.

I was going to take a knife and simply cut off the stained parts of the soap and dump those in the trash.  But the next day, it was gone.  Maybe Father put it there by mistake, like he was working in the bathroom and wanted to use that soap, for some reason.  Or maybe he wanted me to use it and could tell I didn't like it.  I'm not lamenting that bar.  I'm still fascinated/haunted by it.  Where was that bar of soap?  What deeply disturbing things did that bar of soap experience?  What did Father to do it?  Did he shove it into a dusty corner because he thought he could clean with it?  Did he try to sand wood with it?  How in the hell did it get so damn dirty?!