Jan 01 2009
Rorrim
Every day she would come and stare into the glass, her tears streaming silently down her face. Sometimes I would reach out as if to touch the reflected apparition, wanting to wipe away those intangible tears. She would reach out to me as well — how could she not?
I wondered what she saw when looking; which of my hideous features brought her such anguish? I could not begin to imagine how her life might be, contrasted with my own repugnance. What world did she move in, with her radiant glowing beauty evident in every pore?
Daily she would meet my gaze, cheeks wet, eyes red. Often she would grow angry, and make as if to throw something at my face. Sometimes I speculated what would happen to her and me if she made good on that intent.
I pondered what it was like to be in her mind, to be her — a perfect being glaring into this glass and seeing my piteous shape instead. Occasionally we would place our foreheads together and lock eyes, rejoice in beauty, weep and rage at ugliness. We never could bring the other around to our view. I kept trying. So did she.
Yesterday she brought a marker, and I happily brought my own toward the glass with her. At last I could communicate to her what I’d been dying to say for all these years, she would finally see the truth!
“Remember, you are beautiful.”
And she smiled, and there were no tears at all as she brought her face to the glass, and I eagerly followed suit. Oh, to have my unworthy self embrace such glory! Our lips met for a blissful eternal moment, and I felt sure she got my message.
Her face became blank; she turned from me and left, arms wrapped tight around her waist. I also withdrew, curling around the pain of realizing I wasn’t heard after all. I preferred the tears.
Today she did not come. My message remains upon an unviewed mirror.
***
Later they arrived to take the pictures of the note. She doesn’t come around any more.