By Varshini Krishnan
What the hell is wrong with you?
she screamed.
I looked up.
A young woman in her twenties
was staring at me.
Her black eyes, red and tired,
continued to stare at me.
I didn’t know what to say to her.
I noticed
her swollen right eye.
A few fresh pimples tainted her cheeks.
Fine lines spread across her forehead.
The front of her hair showed an emerging bald spot.
Her skin was dull and dry—
looked like she hadn’t slept well in a long time.
I kept staring at her,
hoping she would move
or say something more to me,
but she was frozen
in space and time,
watching me as intently
as I was watching her.
I looked at her again.
But this time I saw
a tear escape her eye,
travel warm down her cheek.
I looked into her eyes.
She blinked.
Her wet eyes looked away.
I looked down
at the bathroom sink.
It had been meticulously wiped clean—
wiped clean of all sins, secrets, and shame.
I turned on the tap one more time,
more out of habit,
to be sure one last time
that all was gone,
all was clean.
No one was home today.
I had wanted to go too—
with them
to the family get-together.
But I had lied,
again, like many times before.
I have a presentation to prepare,
I had said.
And they had believed me,
again, like many times before.
You can’t keep doing this!
she roared.
I didn’t dare to look up—
look again at the woman
standing in front of me.
For another look at her
would break me.
I needed to stay strong
that day.
I didn’t look back
at the woman in the mirror
again that day.