Outdoor plumbing

There was a reference to an outhouse in a blog I read yesterday, and my mind immediately flashed back to the one time in my life when I had the misfortune opportunity to visit an outhouse. It happened sometime in the 50s, when we lived in Missouri, but I have no idea whose property we were on or why we were there. I do, however, have some pretty specific memories about my outhouse experience:

The smell.
Admittedly, one outhouse is a small sample, so I don't know if they all smell that bad. The scent of that one seems to have permanently imbedded itself in my brain in a matter of minutes. There's no doubt in my mind that if someone blindfolded me and led me into that outhouse, I'd recognize my surroundings without touching a thing.

The darkness.
It was broad daylight outside, but the only light in the outhouse was the little bit of sunlight coming through the cracks between the boards and the cut-out on the door. Must have been scary at night. (Lanterns, maybe?)

The floor plan.
I don't know whether this is an unusual thing or not, but this particular outhouse was a two-holer. That may have been the first time in my life I'd ever considered the possibility that there might be pairs of people who'd enjoy sitting side by side as they answered Nature's call.

The black holes.
Maybe outhouses are designed to be dark so people can't see what lurks beneath the cut-out seat. When I looked in, all I saw was blackness. The hole appeared to be very, very deep.

My little sister's love. This one surprises you, no doubt, but it's the reason why this outhouse memory is an important one for me. I don't know how old we were, certainly no older than six and ten. However old my sister was, that's how many years it had been (from my spoiled perspective) since she'd ruined the good thing I'd had going on. She'd singlehandedly destroyed my queendom by virtue of (a) being born and (b) being especially cute. I would be grown before I'd understand that she hadn't done it on purpose.

That day at the outhouse, though, I found out she loved me in spite of our sibling rivalry. I might never have known her true feelings even then if she hadn't peered into one of those deep black holes and become mightily afraid. As for myself, I was desperate. I moved past her, pulled down my shorts and my pastel, day-of-the-week panties, and perched over the edge of a hole that was way bigger than my skinny bottom. And that's when my little sister, in an act of love that moves me to this day, dropped to a squat on the ground in front of me, wrapped her arms tightly around my dangling legs, and held on for dear life until I was finished.

Sis, I haven't thought about this in years and years, and I wonder if you remember it at all. Whether you do or not, I just want to tell you how much I appreciated your concern that day. That was possibly the first time in my life that I came close to falling into deep s**t, and you were there to save me. Sure wish you'd been around some of the later times.