Stories/Poetry Distance

She was losing her distance; things were getting too close. She tried to tell him, but it made no sense when she said,

I just can't seem to get far enough away.

For what? He asked.

To see. She replied.

See what?

Myself.

It made no sense, but he put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a present.

For your birthday.

How nice.

It was. Small, discreet, a smooth oval of thick, black plastic. Thick and warm, it sat in her hand like a stone you might keep from the beach. And when she slipped a nail into the only tiny crevice, it flipped open like one of those bivalve shells. It fell into two identical thin wings.

You can put it in your bag.

So she closed it up and slipped it into her pocket. Left it there for a second, no more, before her hand dipped back, eager to touch. It was so warm to the touch.

You can look at yourself whenever you want to.

Did she want to? She wasn't sure, but he was waiting, so she palmed her present, brought it back out into the light, opened the silver wings and angled them to reflect the view from the window – the clouds, the dipping trees. She leaned forwards for a better look and that's when it happened – again – too close – how she blocked out the sky!

She was like a female Gulliver with her black nostrils and her double chin. Shut it.

Shut it quick! She did and he looked surprised, but then… well, there was so much else to think about, to do. He had arranged it so well, her birthday. First the present and then…

How do you want it?

The peroxided boy picked up a hank of hair and dropped it carelessly so that it fell across her eye. She didn't reply so he sighed, slid a finger under another lock and began to raise it up.

How much off?

The hair reached maximum height and flicked away, poking her in the other eye. But she didn't flinch. She was too busy holding off her reflection. She was trying desperately to keep it at a distance and didn't notice his stylish, languorous contempt. The boy took hold of himself with an exaggerated shake and started to brush her hair vigorously, charging it with electricity so that it stood on end and crackled. She was appalled, broke out in a sweat. Electricity could be the final straw. Electricity might make a force field of the precious space between her and…he stopped brushing suddenly and pushed her hair up from underneath.

I think we need to make some fullness round the chin, more flattering, more feminine.

He tried to catch her eye in the mirror, smiled.

You've got good eyes; shall we highlight them with a fringe?

But she was transfixed with horror. Her chin, her eyes were getting dangerously close, while he? He was very faint; she could hardly hear or see. He was miles back across the room, zooming into the distance, joining the other clients who were gazing into mirrors on the opposite side of the room. She could see the backs of their heads and,

Oh thank goodness!

caught sight of her own head, reflected next to one of their faces, caught it in one of their mirrors. Maybe, maybe if she could just keep an eye on it because, small as it looked, it might produce a counterpull, might save her from crashing up against the cold surface here in front of her. Something had to be done, she was getting so close she could see her breath on the glass, could see the water vapour condensing, could identify every separate drop.

There, how about that?

The boy put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his face next to hers. In the mirror, she saw a two-headed monster, blond and brown, smiling and frowning and only micro seconds away from contact. Micro, micro…he stepped back and held up a hand mirror so she could see the back of her head in close up. Massive counterpull! Her breath whistled out with relief, which he took for approval and so let her get up, get away. She was no longer up against herself, but escaped out into the street where he was waiting. He held her at arms length and saw her differently. He smiled at her elfin fringe and her flattered chin and rewarded her with a kiss.

Let's go shopping. Get you a new outfit. Something…

What?

Like this?

It doesn't look like me.

But it is. It's very you, said the assistant.

Is it? Me?

She can't quite …

The cubicles are very small aren't they? Hardly room to…

Stepping back she collided with the curtain, with the shop assistant who could see …

Your colour.

Is it?

So close the blue filled her vision, like the sky in the silver wings. All blue, not like her eyes. Still, the shop assistant was insistent.

Your colour, that blue, very smart.

He saw her differently.

It's not quite … no.

No.

She thought not.

Too…?

Smart for you.

He could see that.

Not light-hearted enough.

Am I?

The mirror in the cubicle showed her stumbling backwards in blue. Light-hearted? She could laugh at herself and then her reflection would laugh back and the dress would be… like he said, too smart for this laughing woman, too harshly cut for the curve of her lip, cheek and thigh.

Perhaps the silk?

More you, he said.

Softer, she thought.

Dearer, said the assistant.

You're worth it.

Worth her weight in…silk? Which was so thin that it weighed nothing and could afford no protection, could not stop the cool of the mirror chilling her skin. She slipped backwards through the curtain. Took her new silky, light-hearted self away, off to…

Lunch?

Italian?

Maybe.

Or Thai?

That sounds nice. Thai. Delicate flavours and colours, pale greens and yellows, ginger and lemongrass to go with her light dress.

Thai, yes, Thai.

You know you could be oriental?

Could I?

Such a thought had never ever…

Oriental?

It was not part of her…how could he think…? Oriental? Where did he get that idea?

Almond eyes.

Have I?

She was tempted by the mirror in her pocket. Just a glimpse to check.

You can look at yourself whenever you want to.

Flip it open and check on the almond…and the silk.

My eyes?

yes, almond.

In shape?

Just a quick look.

And colour.

Almond – light brown, tan almost, almond.

My eyes, really?

They look it to me.

But to her? She daren't risk the bivalve wings, even though… how extraordinary, quite unexpected, oriental. A whole lifetime of mirrors and she had never…even as close as she was now…had never… well I never… Thai.

It's getting cold.

Sorry?

Your soup, eat it before it gets cold.

She picked up the spoon, which had her at a distance and upside down. She noted how the bowl rounded her eyes so they looked…

Not oriental surely?

Are you still thinking about that? It was just a passing…

Only in passing?

If I had known you would take it this seriously.

But seriously now, only oriental in passing? The Thai waitress slipped behind her back and she saw the small, hurrying figure reflected in the restaurant window.

In passing just like that?

Something about the eyes, that's all I meant.

He sighed and she got on with her soup, kept her eyes lowered and by the time they left it was dark. Only he was visible in the lights of the dashboard, which showed petrol, and speed and the curve of his chin, a tender line, lifting occasionally to check the mirror, tightening as he smiled. She felt herself relax as she watched him. A lovely day, apart from… and that was just her, just her. He sensed her gaze, glanced across and smiled again. They were heading out of town. He looked back at the open road, such a nice face, clear, clear of any… The sea now on their right, black except where the moon made a pathway. For walking on water? It felt like that on the pier, with the dark sea shifting below the boards. They measured their footsteps, avoided the cracks despite the fact that they knew… and she remembered, as a child, the obsession of it, the fear, just one false move, hopping and skipping towards the security of the rails. Cold metal biting into your chest as you leaned, quite safe to lean over and gaze down, but what was that? Just a quiet plop as the warm stone slipped from her pocket and returned… she turned, but he hadn't noticed. Now she could not look at herself whenever she wanted to. What a relief. No more Gulliver. She smiled and leaned over the rail, looking down at…

And that's when it happened again. Too close, he was too close, standing with his arm around her. The sea showed their swaying reflections quite merged, her body into his, her head bulging out, bleeding into his globular neck. One three-legged, two armed figure leaning its double head downwards to kiss the waves. Too far, too close, too near to falling, disappearing beneath the inky surface like the pebble from her pocket.

The figure stretched apart like bubblegum. She lifted her face from the surface of the sea where it was already slapped wet by the waves. She turned and began to run, feet pounding the boards, careless of the cracks. She ran with the silk slicked to her legs, with her head back and her eyes on the distance.