My goodness! What is this obsession? Why does she stand and stare? Why does she taunt me so? Why does she never go? Why must she always return? Why must we do this…Day in, day out. Night in, and most especially – nights out. She does not wary, she always tarries, and I fear it may continue until she marries. And even then she might carry me along with her, and I’ll remain frozen by her stare.
Why is this woman looking at me again? Morning after morning she presents herself to me as if she expected something to have changed. Yet nothing ever has! Her head still hits the daily mark, unless she has heels on, although she rarely does. Not in here anyway. Her rituals may vary, yet her shape remains the same. Oval face, almond eyes, it’s getting quite old really. Light pink lips, black nose ring, beauty spot above her left eye. The most exciting alteration is hair length, and you can see what a bore that might be.
Sometimes with a smile, sometimes with deep liquid pools of sorrow. For years I have watched her features mature, I have watched her hair lengthen – shorten – lengthen – weave – shorten, her eyes wisen, and her lips grow fuller and pinker. I have watched her different make-up experiments – red lipstick staining her pouting lips, pink lip gloss, falsies mascara, volumizing mascara, no mascara, and mascara streaks down her cheeks when she weeps. I watch with silent interest turned waning impatience. Whatever she does, she still remains the same.
Why does she stand before me when she’s on the phone? Why does she want me to replicate the orchestra of emotions that play across her face and erupt in her eyes? That look of impish amusement reserved for the suitors, the warm glow for the loved ones, the obvious irritation that ricochetes off the walls for the irritants, and the silent but sincere shoulder-shaking giggle for the jokers.
I hate seeing that hint of sorrow light up that specific spot in each eye. The way her lips turn downwards and her eyes darken with the shadows of the stormy emotions brewing beneath the surface. Why does she hide her sorrow, suppress her tears? Why does she do that?! Bet I can predict what comes next… Wait for it, wait for it. Yuuup! That glint of stubbornness as she determinedly folds and packs away her heartfelt hurt and plasters on her game face, or the “it’s all sunshine and smiles” one she’s mastered that has even her closest friends fooled.
When she first began to look at me I thought it was mere conceit, but as the years have gone and we meet face to face, eye to eye, I realize it’s the refusal to give in to defeat. I see her every day because every day she wakes. Every day she gets up and goes out and attempts to be great. Everyday come rain or shine she embraces her fate. She does not go out unprepared, she washes, she does her hair. Yes many times she stops and stares, but that’s because she’s taking inventory of her fears and training her dreams to become her career. She’s not looking at her nonexistent dimples or dwelling on her skin, she’s delving deeper into herself and peering through the looking glass to her innermost parts. She finds herself silently on the sidelines watching the transformation of who she is becoming. This is her chance to pause her participation, and be honest about her trepidation, remind herself to ward of intimidation, remember not to attempt imitation, and relish every moment of this transformation with joy, courage, confidence, and elation.
“Mirror Mirror On the Wall, Who Is The Fairest Of Them All?”
Dare you even ask my sweet dear child? For you alone my darling do I have eyes. Fixed in place on the bathroom wall, my life is hardly a bore at all. Vicariously through you I live and soar, for when your reflection breaks my icy decor, joy ripples through my very demeanor. I complain here and there from time to time, but I’m elated when your reflection superimposes upon mine. #Sublime.