Her Face

“Exercise, Cecelia. Exercise.” Her face said to me. And of course by her face, I mean the moving wood grain on the door that twisted to form her eyes, cheeks, nose, and lips. I made sure to keep an eye on those lips. They were thin, pursed as usual and the wood grain gave them a harsh exterior. “Go to bed, Cecelia. Go to bed,” her lips contorted.
The hallway was no better escape. I still saw her boney nose and close-set eyes. This time she was in the carpet and the fibers moved with each warning she gave me. The purple patch beneath my feet started sinking into her mouth. “Smile, Cecilia. Smile.”
Shit shit shit. Where was Luke when I needed him? I asked the trashcan if he could point me in the right direction, to which it promptly replied that he was a she and that no she could not be of any help.
“Pssst.” I looked around. “Pssst. Here, over here.” There he was. Luke was lying peacefully around the corner starring at the ceiling. “Smitty here was telling me about his favorite brand of mascara, but I still can’t figure out how ceiling tiles use mascara. Come lay with me,” he said. His eyes were transfixed directly above him and a broad grin spread across his face. “I keep seeing her.” I told him. “Come lay with me Cecelia. Let’s ask Smitty what we can do about her.” I lay down next to him and watched the ceiling tiles melt into each other, but saw no Smitty. “Luke, can we please go outside. I want to lie in the grass where she can’t find me.”

* * *
He took my hand and led me down the stairs. With each step I took the stairs glanced up at my feet. “Ouch!” they squealed. “Be polite, Cecilia. Be Polite,” I heard her voice echo in the stairwell. Her lips were sliding down the banister next to my hand. “Luke. She’s following us.” He looked back and me. “We’re almost there,” he said opening the door.
The fresh air blew against our faces. I reached into my pocket to find a match and cigarette. “Smitty said that you should stop smoking,” Luke said. I didn’t listen, scratched the match against the sidewalk and puffed away. The smoked billowed above my head, lingering for a few seconds in a heart shaped cloud then dispersed with a sizzle.
The sidewalk was glittered with tiny diamonds and the sun was setting behind a large tongue. “Do you think the tongue swallows the sun?” I asked. “I don’t know but watch out for the breathing fur on your left, Cecelia. Last time I nearly lost my shoes to it.” I looked to my left but only saw more diamonds.
We reached the rolling green grass and I sprawled across it, careful not to catch my arm of fire with a cigarette. “Floss, Cecelia. Floss.” She was in the grass. This time here lips were scruffy blades of grass and her eyes were two caterpillars. Furry brown ones that looked unnatural in the green green grass. I asked them why they were helping her. “You were hers, Cecelia,” they chimed in unison. “She is always with you.” I frowned at them “Don’t frown, Cecelia. Don’t frown,” she snapped at me, and her caterpillar eyes smiled. “She followed us,” I whispered rolling toward Luke, but he was starring at the lines on his palms.
“Mary had a little lamb, little lamb,” the caterpillars started to sing. The right-eye caterpillar abruptly stopped and looked up at me, “Larry here wants to know why you frowned at us. That wasn’t very polite you know.” I picked the talkative caterpillar up and put him in my palm. “I’m sorry,” I pleaded with him. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” He introduced himself as Gus and told me he would forgive me this time, but to beware because angry caterpillars can be dangerous.
I set Gus onto the grass next to Larry and watched them crawl away still singing, “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb.” Luke turned toward me, “Would you like to talk a walk Cecelia?” I agreed, because the grass was growing longer and starting to wrap its blades around me.

* * *
“Brush your hair, Cecelia. Brush your hair.” She was in the trees. I saw her face on every tree that lined the path. Her eyes were puffy discolored knots, her lips were cracks in the bark and her cheeks were sentimental carvings in the trees. The path before me was no paved longer diamonds, but rather tiny pieces of dirty rice that crunched underneath my feet with each step. Luke turned toward me with a puzzled look on his face and asked me why I was growing feathers along my spine. I told him that I was not growing feathers, but I wish that I was because I would love to touch the clouds and be where she couldn’t find me way up in the sky.
“She really is everywhere for you isn’t she?” he asked me. I nodded. He stretched his arms out toward me. They grew an inch for each second he reached them toward me, so by the time I hugged him his arms wrapped around me twice. “We will go where she will never find us,” he assured me

* * *
He took my hand and led me down a steep path along a tiny stream. We sat down on a bed of flowers with every color invented. Next to us was a small mouse that was conversing with a florescent white daisy about the preservation of wildlife. “We need to protect each species. A habitat cannot exist without the coexistence of wildlife. We need each other,” the mouse squeaked. I introduced myself and told them both that I very much agreed with their views. “Do you?” the daisy tweeted, “Are you sure?” They both looked at each other and then at me. “Find your roots,” the daisy advised.
I looked down at my feet, but they were not there. Instead they were replaced by blotchy russet roots stemming far into the ground. “Take a bath, Cecelia. Take a bath.” She had followed us again. Her face was in the stream this time, rippling in the water and dotted with pebbles. Shit shit shit. “She’s still here,” I murmured to Luke, but he was busy talking to the orange clouds and humming “Shave and a hair cut, two bits.”

* * *
The grass was starting to tickle my nose. It asked it to stop, but it replied that it was sorry to tickle me but it was dancing to Luke’s humming. He turned to me, “Come lay with me Cecelia.” I told him that my feet were too deeply rooted into the ground to move. Then I heard her again. Shit! Her voice bubbled in the stream, “Don’t swear, Cecelia. Don’t swear.”
The dandelions started to giggle at me. “It’s not funny!” I informed them. Everything around me was breathing and laughing at me. One particular dandelion piped up, “Laugh with us Cecelia.” They all then started chanting at me. Laugh! Laugh! Cecelia, Laugh! I told my hands to pick the most vocal dandelion and they did. I asked my mouth to blow its furry seeds into the sky, and it did. Each seed shrieked as it was carried off by a gust into the horizon. “Be nice, Cecelia. Be nice,” her voiced chortled in the water.

* * *
I needed to move – to somehow dig my roots out from the ground. I asked Luke if he had a spoon I could dig myself out with. “No,” he answered. “Come lay with me, Cecelia.” He was no help. I decided to use my fingers as a tool. My roots were cold and hard, but they were also brittle. They easily broke away and revealed my forgotten feet.
“Talk to me, Cecelia. Talk to me,” I heard her say. Her voice was everywhere. She sounded like the flowers, the grass, and the stream. She was in the clouds. Her eyes were close-set poofs of clouds; her lips were thinly stretched white residue left from airplanes. I looked up at her and spoke one word that I should have spoken hours ago. “Why?” I demanded.

* * *
“I am you and you are me. I am in you and you are in me. We are rooted together,” she declared. Her hazy lips smiled. “Come back to me, Cecelia. Come back.” I breathed a heavy breathe and took in her words. I am her and she is me. Her features faded into a smudge in the sky. It was time to walk home. To visit her real face. To say, “Hello mother.”