A story about a woman who wakes up to find a different face staring at her in the mirror. |
I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself hard. But, this was no dream. A lovely face stared back at me in the bathroom mirror. I looked more closely, at the warm and tender face. The face had such beautiful features. Clear skin, blue eyes and silky long hair tied up into a neat bun. There were no sign of wrinkles. I touched the mirror and then my face. Yes, there was no mistake that this face belonged to me. But it couldn’t be. Whatever happened to those stern, rugged features, that mature wrinkled face, I was so used to. I turned around and looked at the huge bathroom. I felt like a royal, with the huge round bathtub beckoning me to soak in its arms, the granite counter top with all the beautiful smelling toiletries and when I walked on those sparkling blue floor tiles it felt like I was walking on water. This wasn’t the old, stained bathroom where I had my morning showers. I looked back at the mirror and this wasn’t me. Suddenly, I heard a sleepy male voice called out “Karen, how long will it take? I’ll be late to the office.” That really startled me. The first thought that hit me was, I wasn’t alone. Weird because all my life I’d been alone. “Karen, please hurry up, darling.” “C… coming.” was all I could say. Where was I? The only way to find out was to get out. Once out I gave a gasp at the beauty of the bedroom. The huge pine bed stood in the middle of the room like a king on a throne and there lying in bed was the most handsome, brawny guy I’d ever seen. My heart started to beat so loud ic ould hear it. I stared at his unruly hair and strong naked chest with my mouth open. He looked at me and gave me such a warm smile; I could feel my whole body melting. “What took you so long?” he mumbled as he jumped out of bed. He came towards me and gave me a long heady kiss. Then he headed straight to the bathroom leaving me hungry for more of that intoxicating kiss. Once out of the trance i started to wonder how I got here? I sat down in front of the huge mahogany dressing table looking at myself in the mirror once again and for the third time thinking, this isn’t me. I was Pam, not Kate, a secretary at “Robert and Sons”. I had no boyfriends or family. My life was routine, strictly followed every day, no movies, no parties. Work, eat and sleep was all I did. I was called a zombie by my colleagues and made fun of as unattractive and unappealing. If only they would see me now. But, wait what has happened to me now. My eyes wandered over the table and I slowly started to observe the perfumes and creams neatly placed on the table. But what really caught my attention was a crystal frame with a photo of a cute baby. As I looked at it I felt a sharp pain in my breast. Suddenly there was a low knock. For a moment, I just stared at the door but when there was another knock, I dreamily went over and opened it up. There a young maid dressed in white, nervously, handed me a bundle wrapped in blanket and whispered, “feeding time ma’am”. I closed the door and looked at the bundle in my hand. It was the same baby. She was so pretty. I sat down on the couch and looked at her closely. She had her eyes closed and was shoving her fists in her mouth hungrily. My breast started to hurt again and this time it felt wet. The pretty little thing started to move her mouth closer to my breast. I got my plump heavy breasts out of my robe and she swiftly took it in her mouth. It felt as though I’ve been doing it for months now, even though I’d never been a mother. But then, the feeling of holding that lovely thing in my arms and watch her hungrily suckle at my breast, was a something, I’d never felt before. This baby was now a part of me. If this was a dream I didn’t want it to end. Please god! Let this dream be. Please don’t end it. As I looked down on that little darling sleeping peacefully in my arms I knew then that, I didn’t care who I was, right now all I wanted to be was a mother. And this time, when I looked back at the mirror I wasn’t looking at a stranger but at the reflection of a mother. |