Reflection

I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Was I ready? Did I want to do this again? Can my heart bear it? The buzzing of my cellphone on the sink's edge zones me back into my reality. It was Mama. "Hello." I listen as she talks about her day and I reply back when she asks me about my day, but I know she is wanting to ask me if I was still going to come out to the neighborhood's get-together for an old friend's retirement. "I'm still coming Mama." I could hear the joy in her voice, as we end the call. I walk from the bathroom into my adjacent bedroom and look at the black jeans and loose top I had chosen to wear. Change it? Opting to follow the whim in my gut I change the casual fit to the following: a sky-blue maxi with strappy brown sandals. I look at my toes, they need to be painted the same color as my dress. I used to love pampering myself, I found my first smile of the day, I think I will start doing that once more. Again, I find myself looking at my reflection. I never wear make-up anymore, he said I was most beautiful without all the fake beauty. But he isn't here now, he is gone now remember? I grab a tube of red lipstick, black eyeliner, and waterproof black mascara.

I look at the finished product and again I smile. I feel desirable as my brown skin marries the red lipstick kissing my full lips. Kissable and lust worthy comes to mind as I press them together. So, I release my kinky black coils from the French braid atop my head and let my fingers dance through its ever-tangling roots until my afro looks full and carefree. I look at my reflection and embrace this image of me. He broke you, but look at you now? Did the dress fix you or is it the red lipstick? Or were you ever broken at all?



 I parallel park my car in front of the brick house with the big blue and yellow sign that reads: NEW SEASON, HAPPY RETIREMENT JOHN. WE LOVE YOU!

New season. This is a new season. Is this my new season? He's gone, but I am left here to begin anew. I press my lips together again and look at my reflection in the rearview mirror. New Season. I am beginning again in a sky-blue maxi with brown strappy sandals on my unpainted toes, while my hair is reaching for God and my full lips are dressed in red temptation.

 Mama waves at me. I wave back. Move Girl. I start walking towards her.

“Hey you.” I stop. The voice is silk and deep. Like vanilla ice cream on a sunny afternoon, you know the kind that is melting, but your tongue catches its dripping sweetness to cool your hot throat. I know this voice. I look up and see Mama is no longer waving. Her smile is gone. I twist my head just so to see the owner of voice’s legs. They were long, tanned, and dusted with black hair. My afro conceals my face from the voice. “Hey back.” I say. I turn my head and continue towards Mama, who has her hand extended, without hesitation my hand reaches for hers. Save me Mama. I hear the steps of the Voice’s legs as they pursuit me as I walk towards Mama. I want to run, but the strappy brown sandals demand I be dignified. “I want to talk to you.” The Voice says, I continue to walk until I get to Mama, I grab hold to her hand and turn to the face the Voice.

 He is handsome. Always will be, always was, always is. I know him. I can’t forget him. He dresses causal. Khaki shorts, polo shirt, and boat shoes. “Talk.” I say. It’s a statement, not a question. Mama’s hand tightens it grip on mine.

“Not here.” The Voice is direct. His emerald eyes stare at me until I feel my hand loosen its grip until Mama’s hand grip me to look at her. Looking into chocolate brown eyes that mirror my own, I see her petition: Stay with me. Let Him Go. Don’t make the same mistake. Break the curse. I begin to nod, but the Voice says: “Please.” I drop my head and let go of Mama’s hand.   

 As I stand behind the house waiting; I stare at the vines snaking their way through and around the brick. Waiting for what? Why am I waiting, again? Why?...

“You look beautiful.” His voice resonates through my ears.

“Thank you.” I say.

“Talk.” Is all I manage to say, as I watch his emerald eyes race over my body and then run back up to my face.

“You’ve lost weight.”

I roll my eyes, “People do that sometimes.”

“I miss you.”

I inhale and exhale and try to focus. This isn’t fair.

“You left me. So, it isn’t my fault if you miss me.”

His emerald eyes drill into mine until I forget to think about the betrayal. I let my eyes take all of him in, from his beautiful tan face, to the five o’clock shadow, to the long solid arms. I fill my head with his image until all I remember is the embrace of his powerful arms. I remember the time they supported me when I lost my father. I remember the time they cradle my head; as I lay in a pool of depression after the miscarriage. I look at his mouth his soft lips pressed tight in irritation with me, but all I think is these lips kissed me into submission after I got mad at him for leaving dishes in the sink. These lips planted desire in my soul after I felt horrible if the weight scale read five pounds more than last month.

“I came back.”

I try to focus on his voice.

Came back. Came back after she proved to be more villainous than you?  Remember Girl, this your season. A new beginning.

I laugh.

I laugh until my stomach burns.

“I am awake, and I don’t won’t you to come back.”

I walk back to my car, catching my reflection in the brick house’s window.

I smile.