Body+Mind

One summer I met a small woman, who for reasons beyond my knowledge, liked to be called a child. She was short in stature barely high enough to reach for my hand. Her frame was small and slender, as though the rich meals that she ate refused to have any affect on her being whatsoever. What I like to think I remember most is the swish and flow of her hair that curled as often as the sea shifts to make room for the land it rests upon. I can even feel the way her hands would comb listlessly through the strands that dared break free into her line of sight. Her fingers, which were long and slender, were near perfection. As she carried her small purse, which held only what she wanted it to that day. Even her toes were delicate and small, too small in fact, for any shoe that was not a sandal.

Her body always seemed to be moving in time with the earth and she often swayed with the grace of a somewhat drunken dancer. Once, she broke her leg and her sway became a tilt that seemed to toss the world on its axis. Her mouth was a fine line in which a plump lip sat both below and above. I never remembered those lips. She refused any who tried. Her nose sat above her lips and pointed up in an attempt to get closer to her eyes. Her eyes, which with no amount of description, could have ever been believed to belong to her, were set far apart and were wide enough for her to look through even the soul of the sky. Her iris had no color the rainbow had not thought of before. She was my perfection. No visible piece of flesh held any secret or permanent flaws. I knew her completely.

Her mind was a reflection of the masterpiece she had created in her looks. She hated almost nothing and her curiosity got the best of her in any situation. Her childish glee was infectious and always made anyone near feel as though they had, only in childhood, felt. I had to leave, as most people do, at the wrong time. In five years she had grown very tall. She was what I assumed to be a tall girl, and she informed me quickly that she had instead blossomed into a lady, which was as close to being a woman that she would have liked.

Her head could tuck under my chin securely, although I would not wish for it. Her small frame had become riddled with flowing curves of swelled flesh caused by time alone. Now it was she who refused to eat such rich meals, for they had begun to refuse her. Her hair was flaxen, and straighter than bone, but she preferred it this way. Her hands now pushed strands from her face that had been caked on from too much sweat. Her brittle fingers carried only the air that tried desperately to go around her essence. Her toes were never shown, one heel too many had made sure to prevent any from seeing that nightmare.

Her sway had long since changed with the murder of her dancer by a drunk. The earth seemed to recognize this and had moved on to the sway of another. The line that had been her mouth now was forced in a permanent curve. Her smile giving away nothing, including joy. The nose that had once pointed up toward her eyes now seemed to shy away from her face itself. Her eyes had faded in both shape and color. They were small, far apart, and had the color only clouds hope never to have.

As always her mind mirrored her body’s intent. She hated almost everything that crossed her vision. Her child like glee had faded with each inch that her legs choose to extend. Those who had felt like children in her presence now became men in her home. I had to stay, as most people do, at the wrong time.


For I was fascinated with her beautiful destruction.