When you see me with open eyes,
And there are no lies.
Will you understand?Judy Arline Puckett
She stretched awake. Long graceful legs pushing away the pillows at the foot of the bed.
A soft moan escaped her lips as she twisted her body to shrug off the final dregs of slumber. turning, she checked the bedside clock, 3:55am it read. A wry smile formed on her face. Early, again.
Her driver wouldn’t be around for another hour.
Pulling back her curtains, the sky outside her window was still dark.
The dawn’s purple hues had not yet touched the horizon.
There was a quiet serenity about the breaking hours she mused.
Indeed it was the only semblance of peace she had in her hectic days. Though hectic was an understatement.
Only thirteen hour shifts, and six-day week’s. Birthdays and public holidays, nothing more than crosses on her tattered calendar.
The last time she’d taken a day to herself, had been a friend’s funeral, and that was two years gone.
She stretched again and threw off her covers.
Long, tousled, ‘locs’ hung about her, falling just below her shoulders.
She couldn’t remember when she’d started twisting them in the first place, now, she couldn’t fathom herself without them.
She liked them, its familiar weight gave her a self confidence and sense of identity- swim against the crowd, her mother had always said.
She slipped out of her shorts, pulled her loose fitting T-shirt over her shoulders and wrapping a towel around, stepped into her bathroom.
Her skin tingled under the cold rush of water, and soon the air was filled with the scent of body wash.
She needed another bottle, probably one of the expensive ones she’d seen in those ads on TV. In time.
When at last she rinsed off the lather, she turned the shower taps off, and, grabbing the towel, patted her body dry.
Momentarily she caught a glimpse of her naked self in the almost-foggy mirror.
From a lanky teen, she’d filled out gracefully over the years.
Her feet, delicate, strong calves, legs, lean and athletic, hips narrow, and for the scar above her right navel, unblemished skin led further up her firm tummy to supple, perky breasts beneath a slender neck, leading to her aquiline facial features.
She was often called beautiful.
A word she stopped believing in.
Her young marriage falling into disaster only a year after vows had been exchanged, had left her scarred and wary of sweet nothings whispered during steamy exchanges of sweat.
Beautiful, a lie one told themselves to hide the unpleasant, she thought
She brought the towel closer to her cheek, and closed her eyes, inhaling the scented wool.
It calmed her.
The chirping of birds told her the sun was rising.
She’d have time later to worry about what could be.
Slowly, she gathered her things and walked back to her bedroom, leaving the blank mirror’s surface glistening.