A Woman's Winter
By Shanon Sidell
|
Vertical Divider
|
She looks in the bathroom mirror, the image unrecognizable in the deep night reflection. White porcelain fixtures from another era mock her with their chipped surfaces and blistering silver handles. “You, too,” they cackle, “will lose your luster, fade from your surroundings, implode, and crack your head.” She steadies herself with her hands on either side of the sink, mirroring the wobbly pedestal with her unstable legs. Turning her face left, then right, she inspects and searches for any familiarity in the eye pools, the face bones, the mouth curve. The person she knew was nowhere to be seen. She lifts her blouse, pulling it up over her head before letting it drop to the floor. Revealed is a neck that has lost all substance, a chest wrinkled from the sun, and breasts that lie flat on a belly that resembles sand dunes. Where is the neck that with a tilt could elicit a kiss, the resilient breasts that proudly shone over V-necked tops, and the torso that curved in from her bikini top, then sloped gracefully to her surf-shorts? Gone. But the person, the spirit of the romantic, confident, and sensual, remains. They have not lost their integrity. They will not implode in the dark. She leaves the bathroom, gathers some belongings from the bedroom, living room, and study, packing only the most wisely curated essentials. Securing her bag under one arm, she moves quickly and quietly down the stifling hall, crosses through the dank entryway, flings the front door open, steps over the imprisoning threshold and onto a pink dawn street. A step toward the East River brings a hint of excitement, a familiar turn of neck, and a curious smile from a passing stranger. A sharp, fresh inhale ignites a memory that compels her to pull off her scarf. Her chest cuts through space like a ship’s figurehead. A lilac bud, open to the dawn, dances in front of her. She reaches up to touch the flower, allowing her favorite shirt—a gift from a lover—to ride up and reveal a glimpse of sacred curves. The shadow reflection had had its say, but she turned away, and abandoned its echo to the sonorous void. She chose to live her life out loud, in motion and in full color. |
Vertical Divider
|
