THE MIRROR AND A BOUQUET OF ROSES

In the mirage of the mirror attached to the wall near the door not visible than some of the rooms in the shadows. The room seems smaller because of poor light, and the few pieces of furniture were undefined contours, rounded, without sharp edges and corners. From time to time, enter up to me numb noise, drowned in the thick velvet curtains that obscure the view of the garden. Sun May it has no chance to reach the corner of the room, maybe just one ray longer be lonely to creep up on white sash windows.

I stand before the mirror and my body lurk. I have forty years and still not know him. It gives me signs that do not know how to interpret them, I send-calling signals coming from far away, like a letter that crossed the ocean, full of colorful stamps. I look at him, look at me, and I begin to fall in love by what they see actually what I like to think they see. I raise my hand to arrange a strand of hair escaped from clips and around me begin to move slowly fine dust particles, as if swimming in the shadows, in a soothing dance. I stand before the mirror and look. I look all the strength my expectation, wait outside noises. No bird songs drowsing heat, not close or open gates, no shaking of branches and leaves. Look only those noises that will make me understand that he finished work in the garden, collected gear and arranged them manages the warehouse. Then I know that there is not much until knocks to bring me roses bouquet daily as my husband gave care before leaving. No sound but nothing that could mean that the flowers are close. My eyes were hampered in the mirror dark hair heavy velvet drapes, pale face is ringed waiting. I raise my hand to my hair done escaped from his grip and arms delay, a second, no more, the temple warm, rounded cheek and then slowly descends slowly, infinitely slowly, then neck, collarbone impoverished bones, shoulder covered by thin shirt ... I'll take me in his arms, in a moment of terrible loneliness, but my hands did not have the power to make me bloom. I begin to count silently, slowly, to stop the moment to standby freezes waters were steamed mirror and not see anything in them, no matter how I try to keep my eyes open. From somewhere far, far away, as if they come from another world, far beyond the curtain that keeps light captive, even beyond this day and this moment, hardly go back, as I would waters break a dreamless sleep, to hear the door bell garden side, three times, short, hurried and then silence. Song of ousted leaped suddenly into dark corners, the demons of loneliness.

I forties and live far from my birthplace, away from people who are known to me, far from the places where I grew up. I live abroad. I came here after I married a man who, unlike others who were close to me in the

time of adolescence, I promised that we travel worldwide. That we spend all the holidays away from known locations, we'll run of civilization as we can, to discover new realms. I have chosen the other candidates just for the promise of escape in new places, and not because I had strong feelings towards him. I do not think I loved him. It was between us that spark that paralyzes and cancels any contact with reality. What stuns and makes you think that you grow wings. Yes, I admit that I loved, but I thought from the beginning that friendship will turn into a deeper connection and that we will go further bound by it. I chose the mind, not the heart, and I thought I'd be smart enough to hide it and to do, then, that he does not feel between us. I chose mind because I wanted to get away from the provincial fair I was born, to escape the care of tomorrow and the running after basic needs.

My husband was raised by an army of women, mother, aunt and two grandmothers about three. His father left when he was too young to know him and to have him the model. And he could not go out with any step in teaching women whose lives, all centered around him. Everything he did, even însurătoarea passed through the sieve of their judgment petty. Nothing was left to chance, and that was from a respectable family and I was smart, thawed and voluntary when it came to taking decisions that I gave back to me that I was doing anything and in any case they made them believe that I will be a good choice for "pupil" them. That he will arrive in good hands if you marry me, for all worldly cares I had to wear them since then, just so he could live like before, away from domestic trouble, away from household needs.

I knew what I hitched, I suspected what I expected, I thought, with youthful bravado, that all can be overcome and that will not be hard. While I lived with his mother and his aunts, nor have I had since I sobered because they took our young family from the start and began to direct and coordinate everything I did, with a naturalness that started She had fun and made me think. My husband seemed normal as they decide on, and after marriage, his life, from matching tie suit until the day went to the movies. Me, not.

Certainly, we have reached in relation to these delicate moments aunts, foster mothers, benevolent, but I was lucky to get away in time. My husband was sent to the service from home, abroad, I could say at the end of the world, thousands of kilometers from the place of birth and adoptive mothers army. We have, therefore, we, alone, in a house surrounded by a lovely garden. In the early days, did not get enough of her beauty, I could not go into the house for hours I spent among the flowers and trees with joy that there is no one to decide our lives. This garden has become a symbol of freedom that we enjoy. We ate in the garden, often sleeping in the gazebo on the shore of the pond, both standing, when he was free, for hours in the hammock between trees, we even a few times and loved it. I noted with satisfaction that in those days the start and my husband agree with them changing, that he feels free after the move. It seemed two children going on holiday, in lovely gardens, away from the watchful eyes of parents.

But the joy was not long. The horse learned to yoke does not feel good, leave him much free time. That and my husband began to miss him her army of women who were the program's life by ordering rules inherited from generations long aging. Then I understood that I will have to take the role of the woman leader, I will be wife-mother, wife secretary-mistress girlfriend. I duplicated me, to be his good, to feel at peace and fulfilled. Let them tell you what to do and when to give those recommendations that put him in a state of the obedient child, the wise son, the grandson thoughtful. For a while he went so, then increasingly difficult for my patience is gone.

We reached more delicate things, I got to tell you when to take my hand, I invite you to walk, I came to planning I love watches, hours of intimacy. During this time, I always watched desperately as small as a sign that it could come from an initiative that could make him the first step, that it could be done without waiting to be pushed from back. I waited, I watched and I am a beggar gestures and caresses. Caresses that were not at all fresh, natural, spontaneous, tender, as long as I was asking them and begged them, maddened by his indifference. My nature voluntary melted, I turned into a weeping woman, frightened and lonely. I sit for hours in my room with the curtains drawn, sitting in semi-darkness and hide, as blooming desire not to see my face. That, especially since my husband hired a boy dealing with maintenance and management of the house and is at the same time, and a very skillful gardener.

Garden side door bell rang three times short and rushed. The song's cheerful suddenly drove in dark corners, the demons of loneliness. Gardener bouquet brings me as my husband asked. I should now open the door and down to get him, to smile and to thank the gardener, neutral to ask him how he was doing and what is news. I look in the mirror and see only a body if it is not mine. The wait was born in my eyes heavy shadows, arranging hasty hair rebel hands are caught in a feverish movement, his whole body floating above steps that Comminute floor. Before leaving the room, I stop and look me in the mirror again and not see anything in her troubled waters. I close the door and do not know if I will return there.

                                                             photo credit: google.com



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