I am Narcissus wearing a gown of pure golden joy, celebrating that the fidelity to my own reflection has produced results. My image has come to life, in male form. He rejects the hand I extend, and runs off to find another who is nothing like us. He screams to me, I know your name, but it will not pass through my lips. Meanwhile, my refusal to pronounce his name is done out of shame. It is done to conceal a slight, Spanish lisp that will forever live on my tongue.
The dream that felt real, quickly becomes a fading dot. I am glad for this.
Father works, as he always has. He was born working, yet has little to show for it. The whites of his eyes have been lost to red. They are not breaths he takes, but sighs. When he walks, it is as if he is being very careful not to drop whatever pride remains. There is a sense of defeat that he battles with, and I wonder when he will lose.
It surprises me that something so pronounced, so unmistakable, was often overlooked by me. My obedience to self-absorption has led to many mistakes. It is crushing to recognize how many I have hurt, in the process of undoing my own hurt. It was important for me to understand why so much had happened, to understand things, that I forgot how to understand people.
My mother loved to wear long skirts, when I was just a little thing. It would hide her heels, and create the illusion that her height was not borrowed. I would take shelter under the layers. Through the giggles and the tugs, she did not mind. On weekends, I would go for a ride in father’s car. He would drive for hours, until we were both tired of daydreaming.