Lather, Rinse, Repeat

“And you'll never know 'til you reach the top
If it was worth the uphill climb.”

         After two months as the smallest girl in the world, I was prepared to shrink back

into my cave and disappear altogether. The cold and damp welcomed me as a mother

welcomes a child that is not her own, and I would have submitted to the surrounding call

if not for the warm interference of my own mother. She called and she nagged far louder

than the reaches of my mind could ever hope to achieve. I sank back into the real world,

coming to grasp with the fact that there was more going on than the frenzy of  mental

activity racing about within the clench of two sweaty palms.


         The return from the abstract to the security of concrete fact is never an easy ride,

but seems to be necessary in order to carry out the business we seem to deem

necessary. The racks of orphan clothes all screamed at me to be loved. They needed a

home – I needed a break. I clenched my hands to my head and squeezed as hard as

my anxiety would allow. No matter how hard I tried, though, my head would not

compress enough to seal the leak in my mind that allowed the bad thoughts to sift

through to the rest of my body.


         My mother rapped sharply at my consciousness and demanded that I try on a

heap of clothes. I obliged without enthusiasm and moved into the dressing room. Out of

my mother's sight, the clothing which did not suit my taste fell quickly to the floor. I was

left with a small collection of pants, none of which would agree to fit.


         I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, looking not to my eyes, but my torso, and

lanky arms and legs. Dressed almost outrageously in sheer baggy sweatpants, green

lace-up winter boots, and a sleek white over-bust corset. They told my story. The body

beneath, the head above, the eyes, did not. I peered cautiously into the eyes, as if they

were a stranger's.


         Head high, body slumped, exit dressing room, declare failure, and resume to the

aisles to begin yet another cycle. Lather, rinse, and repeat.


         My mother looked at me, calmly bewildered, and I resume my stance with in the

racks of closing, squeezing my head between my hands, making the bad go away. It

still won't work and she still won't understand. She pushes me towards a collection

of jeans and the chaos begins to subside. She pulls me from jeans to shoes, and helps

me select a pair to try. I don't see what she likes in them, but I pull them on my feet

and walk around the store. I put the shoes back and resume following my mother.


         We make our way around the remainder of the store. When we leave, the sun has

dropped below the horizon, my senses immediately intensified. Light conversation

passes the car ride home.