Sunday, June 07, 2009

Woman

Sometimes, she’s a fish. She smiles at the blinding sun and gets ready to submerge herself in the salty waves. Her swimming cap, dotted with marigolds, protects the highlights. She likes that it matches her bathing suit. No, she doesn’t dive in at once. She first stands at the edge of the water, letting the gentle foam roll over her feet. She enjoys watching the clear bubbles flirt with the pale pink of her toenails. Sauntering into the ocean, she rubs her upper arms, wishing away the goose bumps. Finally, when the water reaches the birthmark on her neck, she turns around, waves to the kids, and lunges forward, kicking up her feet and floating toward the blindness. She wishes she had worn her sunglasses. But she had forgotten them in the room where she was a snake.

That day, she was a poisonous one. She wore black stilettos and a matching pencil skirt, slit at the side. Her silk blouse was buttoned up enough to claim decency, but her perfume revealed that the eye was at fault. Her mouth, smothered in crimson, kept screaming. It screamed at the people around the long lacquered desk who were drinking coffee, responding and writing in notebooks; at the sleeping man who was breathing loudly into her neck; at the whimpering poodle who missed her; at the waving neighbor who overwatered her garden, and at the reflection in the mirror. The woman in the mirror didn’t deserve any respect because she was a rabbit.

Not even a rabbit – a cowardly bunny. She raced to the café, putting lipstick on at the stoplights, and spraying perfume onto her wrists. She parked the car too far away from the curb, but she didn’t notice. She was looking around for another car – the one that doesn’t smell like cherry air freshener. No, that one smelled like leather. It was clean and clutter-free. It was roomy and had all kinds of little cup holders that popped out at the touch of a button. She also liked how the seats became warm when it was freezing outside. But not much else inside that car was warm. In fact, the coldness within it was what made her wish she were still a cat.

Those were the feline days! Lying around on the window sill and purring used to come naturally to her. All she had to do was open that window, and the world would be at her paws. After all, her coat was always soft and luxurious. Everyone wanted to rub against it – even the dogs. And she didn’t mind – she loved the admiration. Bring it on, she used to say. The more the merrier. And was it merry! Back then, she never took the phone into the shower with her. Let it ring, she thought as she lay in her bubbly water. When she did answer, she didn’t even care who was at the other end. As long as what the voice was saying sounded enticing, she listened. And they kept calling. Until she became a monkey.

She was a cute chimp, though. She would part her hair in the middle and dot scented oil behind her ears. She made him fondue dinners and knitted mittens. He didn’t make her anything, but she liked holding his hand as they walked to her place. They’d be hungry after the meetings where they all sat around in a circle and shared. She also liked how, after the meal, he’d wrap his hands around her waist and nuzzle the back of her neck. She’d always wash the dishes slowly, to prolong that closeness. After he’d leave, she would wander around the kitchen, looking around and hoping he had forgotten something. A lighter, a mitten, anything. ♦DiggIt!Add to del.icio.usAdd to Technorati Faves