Her Reflections

I wipe the fog off the bathroom mirror and my mind.

This is the end, isn’t it?

Well, I am going to go out with a bang.

“Isn’t it wonderful how they have finally settled down? I’ve been following their story right from the beginning. So inspiring. If two people who are so different can commit to living their lives together, for better or for worse, then I think our chances are quite good. We already have so much in common, right?”

No reply. He is distant. Well, more distant than usual. Distance is part and parcel of his world. When you are worth millions, an invisible “do not cross” line automatically appears around you. I can feel his coldness towards me even though I am in the bathroom and he is in the bedroom, probably conducting an autopsy of our dying relationship. Cause of death: asphyxiation from high expectations.

I am the envy of many. I know women who would do anything to be in the position I am in right now. To an outsider, I look like I’m in the inner circle, the inner chamber. After all, here I am, staring at my reflection in his bathroom’s mirror.

Nothing is as it seems. This is all an illusion. Smoke and mirrors.

How did I get here? How did I get stuck in a love triangle featuring a rock star and his deceased fiancée? How did I become a side character in my own life?

I am a fanatic, not a lunatic. I am not delusional. I know there is no happy ending for me. I know there is no “for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health” for me. I know he cannot handle my expectations anymore. I know he wants me gone. I know it is futile. He is adored by millions, in love with one who will forever remain in the past.

I cannot compete with a perfect phantom.

I am not averse to living on scraps. The scraps he gives me fuel this jaded flame. My hope burns eternal. Maybe I can be the bridge between his past and future. Maybe I can be his future. I want to be more than just his fan. There, I said it.

“When are you going to settle down? You can’t play in a band for the rest of your life. There’s nothing left for you to prove. You can now relax, let other people, younger people, save the country. Why don’t you enjoy the fruits of your hard labour? Why don’t you enjoy them with me?”

Right now, I’m just a puddle of water that he steps on, steps over, steps into, to escape the past. A puddle of water that he periodically glances at but quickly looks away, lest I reflect back to him something he does not want to see.

Maybe one day he will look at me and really see me, not just parts of my body.

I have been betrayed by my own body. These eyes keep looking at him, these hands keep reaching out for him, this mouth keeps speaking his name, these feet keep walking back to him, these ear drums keep responding to his voice.

When I’m dancing for him, with him, I feel alive.

He tells me to hurry up and finish up with the bathroom, that it’s time for me to leave.

“But I just got here! I don’t mind staying for a night…or ten.”

He threatens to call security.

Well, who’s going to protect me from him? Who is going to kick him out from my heart and mind? Who is going to teach me self-defense classes against his seduction? Karate against his kisses, Tae Kwon Do against his touch.

I didn’t stand a chance. From the moment he set eyes on me and decided that I was going to be his band aid, I was hooked. It was like in that London Rain song by Heather Nova. I was an addict. He was both my dealer and the drug.

Hope is a poisonous drug.

I look at my reflection and smile. My reflection smiles back. It’s nice to get a positive reaction from someone. I look my reflection in the eye, commit to memory the image before me; the way I look draped in dignity.

I walk out of the bathroom. He is still seated on the bed. I made sure to make it, some order in the midst of chaos.

I kneel before him. Yes, I kneel before him. This way, he does not get to bring me to my knees. I kneel of my own volition.

I hold his hand. He lets me.

My heart beats like it wants to jump out and join his drum kit.

He has more than one drum kit. Can’t he make a little room in his heart for one more person?

I tear up. I will my tears away.

The soothing sound of the waves provides me with a soundtrack. Then:

I beg.

I am not averse to living on scraps.

“She’s gone. Why can’t you let the past remain in the past? I’m the one who is here. I can never replace her. I know you will never love me the way you loved her. I don’t need you to love me with an all-consuming love. I just want a little space in your heart.

He calls security.

I gather up my things as I wait for the inevitable. Everything fits in my bag except my dignity.

I drink water to pass the seconds away. He plays the drums to beat his guilt and grief into submission.

The security team arrives after a few minutes. I make it hard for them to escort me off the premises. The glass of water is knocked over in the scuffle and shatters.

As they carry me away, I tell him that he can call me anytime he wants, that I will always be there for him, that I will remain his biggest fan.

He bangs the door shut.

Perfect.