On Illusion
*****
Rain. Five days in a row.
The rain itself did not bother her. But it was a human thing to cower under awnings, to wait for it to pass and mourn the ruination of hairdos. She did not mourn, or cower, but she waited under an awning. No sense in getting soaked.
It was rather late; the shops on the avenue were closed. She looked around at them, for at least they were something to look at, and the shop she stood before caught her eye.
The window was dark. Yet the figure seemed lit from within, ghostly, as if waiting.
What, she wondered, was it waiting for? For someone to take its arm and give it away? To walk towards a man as distant as a mountain, an uncertain future?
She walked up to the window, close enough that her artificial breath left fog on the slick surface. Rain glittered like little jewels in her halo of hair, and her reflection looked back at her, face blank as an empty canvas.
No father, no groom could take the figure's arm, she realized. It had none. No arms, no legs, no head, and yet it seemed more complete than she was, than she ever would be.
It was just a body, but what a body. It could be molded to anyone's wishes--slender where it was supposed to be slender, curved where it was supposed to be curved. She turned sideways to examine herself. Did a body like that please men? Was that what they wanted?
Perhaps the figure led a fuller life than she did, anyway--constantly being admired by passersby, bedecked in the most elegant fashion. This figure was never made to wear black.
How hard it would be to walk in such a dress, the skirt so full. One would trip over it, or the train behind it. How undignified that would look in front of family and friends. Silly. How tight that bodice would be, a woman would have trouble breathing in such a thing. Even she, who had no need to breathe, would find it annoying...
With a little cock of the head, she looked again, and realized, with a dull, heavy permanence to the thought, that she would never know. Why should she care? She would never have to wear such a dress.
She who had no feelings became a bit unsettled by the thought, and turned away from the headless figure to stare at the rain, falling like stars in the haze of the streetlamps on the avenue.
After a minute, she turned back.
Perhaps the figure was not so lucky after all. It would not wear the dress forever, would not be the one to walk the aisle on nonexistent legs. No father would give its nonexistent hand to a groom or an uncertain future. Its future was right in front of it. It knew its purpose. Its duty.
The rain tapered to a stop, and she continued on her way. One last glance at the window made her stop. She could see, almost as if it were superimposed over the gown, her own reflection in the dark window.
Well...why not?
*****
It was a shame Roger Smith was not anywhere near the small mirrored cubicle, for Dorothy was trying on not only a dress but a variety of new facial expressions.
She became occupied with swishing the skirt in different directions and watching her reflections follow her movements. No one had ever followed what she had done before, and even if they were just mirror images, it was nice to have someone's attention totally focused on her. Six whole someones, copying her every move in a kind of staggered choreography. She spun in one direction, and they spun away from her, as if they were dancing together.
The veil was another thing entirely. It tickled her face and she did not like the feeling of looking at the world through a curtain. It reminded her very much of her brief tryst with Roger's leather gloves. She remembered her frustration, and then how he had explained...
Sudden heat made her push the thick netting from her face. She looked at her reflections, and all six of them looked suddenly breathless.
She did not like the helpless look, and quickly slid back into her usual blank expression. The blankness soon faded into a pensive look, as she examined her feet in the small shoes. When she dropped the skirt, she could not see her feet. She looked rather like the mannequin in the store window. There was nothing to prove that there was a rest of her. There was only the gown.
That thought made her push the door open a little to peek out at the mannequin, now naked to the world in the window. No longer beautiful, just half a body, waiting for the next person to come along and dress it up.
She raised her left hand to push a lock of hair behind her ear. Six Dorothys raised their right to do the same.
*****
On the way out she stared at the mannequin, wondering if they would put the same dress on it, or perhaps a new one. Either way it would not look so lonely.
She was scrubbing the hall floor when he came in. She was so intent on the task at hand that she didn't seem to see him. At first he was ready to smirk and think, good, she was working hard.
Till he noticed the mop was lying idle next to the bucket of soapy water. She was just staring at the floor, occasionally moving her hands as if she were charming a snake, the motions a flute for her reflection to follow.
He frowned slightly, but the expression bled into one of wonder at what she was doing. In the gleam of the highly polished floor, his reflection walked over to where hers knelt spellbound.
She reached a hand over to run fingers lightly across the reflection of his face. He stared down, puzzled, at the illusion that they'd touched.
"Hello, Roger," she said. Her reflection followed suit, silently.
*****
Sometimes on the weekends, my best friend would drive us out to the movie theater. We would always forget to park in the parking lot, and have to walk three extra blocks. The bridal shop was always closed by the time we got there, and he always waited, jingling his keys impatiently, while I peered into the window at the dress on display. I realized that should I ever get married, there would be problems. I didn't like ANY of them!
Another thing I don't like is mirrors. Everyone says that mirrors tell the absolute truth, but mirrors lie all the time. They reflect bad lighting, suck out all the color from things, smear, smudge, warp. They don't even reflect you. They reflect the OPPOSITE of you. People think that things in the mirror are real, but they're as misleading as it gets.
Sorry for that growl. Please review!
*****
Rain. Five days in a row.
The rain itself did not bother her. But it was a human thing to cower under awnings, to wait for it to pass and mourn the ruination of hairdos. She did not mourn, or cower, but she waited under an awning. No sense in getting soaked.
It was rather late; the shops on the avenue were closed. She looked around at them, for at least they were something to look at, and the shop she stood before caught her eye.
The window was dark. Yet the figure seemed lit from within, ghostly, as if waiting.
What, she wondered, was it waiting for? For someone to take its arm and give it away? To walk towards a man as distant as a mountain, an uncertain future?
She walked up to the window, close enough that her artificial breath left fog on the slick surface. Rain glittered like little jewels in her halo of hair, and her reflection looked back at her, face blank as an empty canvas.
No father, no groom could take the figure's arm, she realized. It had none. No arms, no legs, no head, and yet it seemed more complete than she was, than she ever would be.
It was just a body, but what a body. It could be molded to anyone's wishes--slender where it was supposed to be slender, curved where it was supposed to be curved. She turned sideways to examine herself. Did a body like that please men? Was that what they wanted?
Perhaps the figure led a fuller life than she did, anyway--constantly being admired by passersby, bedecked in the most elegant fashion. This figure was never made to wear black.
How hard it would be to walk in such a dress, the skirt so full. One would trip over it, or the train behind it. How undignified that would look in front of family and friends. Silly. How tight that bodice would be, a woman would have trouble breathing in such a thing. Even she, who had no need to breathe, would find it annoying...
With a little cock of the head, she looked again, and realized, with a dull, heavy permanence to the thought, that she would never know. Why should she care? She would never have to wear such a dress.
She who had no feelings became a bit unsettled by the thought, and turned away from the headless figure to stare at the rain, falling like stars in the haze of the streetlamps on the avenue.
After a minute, she turned back.
Perhaps the figure was not so lucky after all. It would not wear the dress forever, would not be the one to walk the aisle on nonexistent legs. No father would give its nonexistent hand to a groom or an uncertain future. Its future was right in front of it. It knew its purpose. Its duty.
The rain tapered to a stop, and she continued on her way. One last glance at the window made her stop. She could see, almost as if it were superimposed over the gown, her own reflection in the dark window.
Well...why not?
*****
It was a shame Roger Smith was not anywhere near the small mirrored cubicle, for Dorothy was trying on not only a dress but a variety of new facial expressions.
She became occupied with swishing the skirt in different directions and watching her reflections follow her movements. No one had ever followed what she had done before, and even if they were just mirror images, it was nice to have someone's attention totally focused on her. Six whole someones, copying her every move in a kind of staggered choreography. She spun in one direction, and they spun away from her, as if they were dancing together.
The veil was another thing entirely. It tickled her face and she did not like the feeling of looking at the world through a curtain. It reminded her very much of her brief tryst with Roger's leather gloves. She remembered her frustration, and then how he had explained...
Sudden heat made her push the thick netting from her face. She looked at her reflections, and all six of them looked suddenly breathless.
She did not like the helpless look, and quickly slid back into her usual blank expression. The blankness soon faded into a pensive look, as she examined her feet in the small shoes. When she dropped the skirt, she could not see her feet. She looked rather like the mannequin in the store window. There was nothing to prove that there was a rest of her. There was only the gown.
That thought made her push the door open a little to peek out at the mannequin, now naked to the world in the window. No longer beautiful, just half a body, waiting for the next person to come along and dress it up.
She raised her left hand to push a lock of hair behind her ear. Six Dorothys raised their right to do the same.
*****
On the way out she stared at the mannequin, wondering if they would put the same dress on it, or perhaps a new one. Either way it would not look so lonely.
She was scrubbing the hall floor when he came in. She was so intent on the task at hand that she didn't seem to see him. At first he was ready to smirk and think, good, she was working hard.
Till he noticed the mop was lying idle next to the bucket of soapy water. She was just staring at the floor, occasionally moving her hands as if she were charming a snake, the motions a flute for her reflection to follow.
He frowned slightly, but the expression bled into one of wonder at what she was doing. In the gleam of the highly polished floor, his reflection walked over to where hers knelt spellbound.
She reached a hand over to run fingers lightly across the reflection of his face. He stared down, puzzled, at the illusion that they'd touched.
"Hello, Roger," she said. Her reflection followed suit, silently.
*****
Sometimes on the weekends, my best friend would drive us out to the movie theater. We would always forget to park in the parking lot, and have to walk three extra blocks. The bridal shop was always closed by the time we got there, and he always waited, jingling his keys impatiently, while I peered into the window at the dress on display. I realized that should I ever get married, there would be problems. I didn't like ANY of them!
Another thing I don't like is mirrors. Everyone says that mirrors tell the absolute truth, but mirrors lie all the time. They reflect bad lighting, suck out all the color from things, smear, smudge, warp. They don't even reflect you. They reflect the OPPOSITE of you. People think that things in the mirror are real, but they're as misleading as it gets.
Sorry for that growl. Please review!