The Little Girl in the Mirror / Rose Cannot Walk
I drove my grandmother to the optometrist and she asked me to take the old road back, instead of the highway, so she could visit a friend. The old road is out of the way and miles longer than the highway, nestled in a valley of farmland and horse trails. I pulled off the road and drove until the sounds of cars and people melted away into the silence of the breeze.
Rose is my grandmother’s ninety-six year old, wheelchair-bound friend. She lives with her daughter and personal nurse Sally. After minutes of ringing the doorbell, I found myself sitting on Rose’s bed while she explained that one day she was going to walk again. I felt incredibly out of place. I tuned out.
There was a large painting on the wall of a little girl, sitting in front of a mirror holding her hands upon her cheeks and making an surprised look, with a sagging magazine between her knees. A beautiful actresses face could be seen in the pages of the magazine, the face that girl was attempting to imitate.
I thought about the more general case of celebrity worship, of simply of our inspired desires. Here was this woman envious of the ability to walk, and I was sitting next to her, envious of I-don’t-know-what. I couldn’t bring myself to want anything in her presence: I’m young, I can walk. She said I was “very tall” and “very handsome”, and I’m sure she meant it.
Categorized as Life