The
water was cold. No - more than that, it was icy
and, anticipating this, her breath hesitated only slightly at
its first
pricks on her paper-thin skin. This was an old house with old plumbing
and she often told herself she should install one faucet to replace the
two she had - one to scald, and one to penetrate her bones. The winter
chill made it all the harder to bear the extreme water temperatures,
but there always seemed more pressing matters requiring attention and
money.
She cupped the water in tired hands, weak from having learnt all too
often to let go and crippled with age and arthritic stiffness. She
splashed the liquid to her face, and it scattered around the cracked
enamel basin, bleeding droplets to stain the parched timber floor
around her talcum powdered feet. She repeated the gesture until she
felt the running water echo in her bladder, and stifled the urge by
turning the tap off with all the swiftness her aching hands could
manage. She reached out with closed eyes, stroking the crisp air,
fumbling for a bath towel to pat her face dry.
It was habit now, which compelled her from the warm comfort of her bed
at sun-up every morning, though once she may have said it was hope. The
hope which comes with a brand-new day, full of possibilities and
promises of simple cherished moments. Now, now it was habit since death
had selfishly stolen his last breath while he slept at her side, and
cheated her of both company, and the speck of usefulness she'd felt she
had remaining. Wretched age that clings like a leech and sucks your
body dry, she thought, and turned to face the mirror with impulsive
bravery. She never allowed herself to scrutinise her naked body, not
even glimpse it. Hadn't done for years now... until today. Today, she
had awoken praying for an end to remembrance. Today, her mood differed
from yesterday. Today, she had awoken feeling sad, angry and cheated.
She focused her hesitant glance on her eyes at first, not voicing her
dare, gathering her courage, defying foolish vanity. She took in a deep
breath and stared straight into her eyes... There I am, she thought, me
- ageless and vulnerable as I have always felt - the fires surely have
dimmed, but the spark is still there. Her face softened to a half
smile. She lifted her hand to her faded brow, and gently tugged at her
forehead to iron out the creases that drooped stubbornly as soon as she
let go. She traced each wrinkle back to its beginning, her face like a
road map of yesterdays set on coarse parchment. Yesterdays charted out
of control, and gathering before her as a testimony to her life.
Her life and body stripped naked and uncensored before her, and gravity
pressing down on her with the added weight of regret. Heavy, heavy
regret... but then again, how could she be sure? After all, certainty
is fickle like a sun shower in the summertime. How could she know how
it might have been had she done it all differently? Yet, it was always
with her, tugging at her thoughts... a very deep regret of chances not
taken and words not spoken, of promises not kept and hurt not voiced...
so many things.
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