Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Inside Out

The first word that popped into my head when I first met her was "persimmon." The second was "hag." 

Her face was tight with tension, lips pursed, eyes narrow. Those sort of squinting expressions mar the skin with a multitude of lines—and she isn't even so old. 

I then heard the happy news of her engagement, and when I entered the vort I heard murmurings: "Isn't the kallah beautiful?" 

Who, lemon-mouth? Nah. 

But she was. 

Her joy suffused her very being, smoothing skin, widening her mouth into a blissful smile, casting a twinkle to her eyes. Same makeup, same clothing, but a whole new person revealed. Ah, there you are! Pleased to meet you.
Shortly beforehand, I was dancing by a wedding when I spied a magnificent Face across the way. Her makeup! That eyeshadow! That lipstick! That skin! STUNNING!

But her expression was blank. Eyes dead, mouth not quite frowning, but far from smiling. I was gazing at a Venetian mask, half-heartedly shuffling across the floor beneath her fabulously cut wig.

I don't know what could have been holding her back. Insecurity, sadness, maybe she was an adroid.
Yet it was a shame. For if she allowed herself some confidence, if not happiness, she would have been the fairest of them all.      

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