The third writing assignment of the year in the Deadlines for Writers short story group is due today. The prompt is "Lady" and the word count is 2500! My first draft was 800 words short of that goal; I thought there was no way to write that much fiction. But here it is - exactly 2500 words. (I've been assured that this is the longest assignment of the year, whew!)
The Lady in the Mirror
“It’s gonna be a good day,” I told the lady in the bathroom mirror.
She seemed to believe me. Why not, after all? I was up early.
I should have plenty of time to get ready for work. I had already made the bed,
had a hot shower and washed my hair. Alright, so the hot water in the shower
(who am I kidding here? The WARM water in the shower) lasted just BARELY long
enough to wash my hair. The rest of me got the cold water treatment. Oh well! Cold
showers speed up the metabolism, right? So, maybe the cold water was a karmic
gift! One more blessing!
Still it’s gonna be a good day!
Hurrying to get dressed, my clothes laid out last night, I
found that the pants I had planned to wear were too snug on my hips (dadgumit!),
so I had to rummage for a looser pair and a blouse to match. The new color
outfit dictated that I also change purses. That little complication cost me five
precious minutes as I hastily transferred essentials from one purse to the
other. The unexpected clothes-selection process added several minutes to my allotted
get-ready time.
I glanced at the dressmaker’s mirror standing in the corner
to check my outfit. The lady there assured me that I could make up those lost
minutes by taking my coffee on the go this smorning. Maybe I could even make up
some time on the road -- if I could get out the door before the worst traffic
hour started.
I haven’t lost it yet, I told myself. It’s still gonna be a great day!
Back in the bathroom to finish my toilette, I smiled widely
at the lady in the mirror. Psychologists assert that the muscle memory of a
wide smile will transfer from the cheeks into the brain and tell the brain to
turn on the happy chemicals. Come on, brain synapses, do your job! I need that joy
juice!
“It’s gonna to be a good day,” I whispered to the mirror
lady although my cheeks were aching from the prolonged smiling.
Make-up all finished, I reached for the hair dryer to begin
drying my short hair and styling it to best advantage. Since it had begun
thinning last year due to low thyroid levels, it takes more time and effort to
get sufficient volume for a youthful and flattering look. Working with the
heated air and a round brush, my less than voluminous mane was styled in record
time! And just like I wanted it! Yes!
It’s gonna be a good-hair day for this girl today!
I was out the door only a few minutes behind schedule; the
sun was shining, and the birds were chirping. It looked like the perfect Spring
day. Sure, I’d burned my tongue on that first sip of coffee, and those minutes
I had lost finding a better-fitting outfit will put me on the freeway at the
start of the worst traffic hour, and that means a slower commute; but maybe all
the crazies who usually share the road with me will take another route to work
today. Not likely, but it could happen!
I can still do this! It’s gonna be a good day. Let’s roll!
“No. no. no!” I groaned through gritted teeth as a sudden line
of brake lights ahead foretold the future. I had been breezing along at the speed limit
and feeling optimistic, but now traffic had slowed to a crawl.
Wig-wag lights
in all colors flashed as I approached the accident scene. Cop cars flashed blue
on one side of the lines of cars; wrecker trucks flashed yellow on the other
side; firetrucks and ambulances flashed red both ahead and behind. Damaged
vehicles were scattered willy-nilly across the lanes, and dazed passengers
stood on the shoulder talking to each other or the officers attempting to manage
the scene. One older couple sat on the grassy bank a few feet off the shoulder
of the roadway looking forlorn and worried.
A few of the more aggressive crazies
in the cars ahead of me, who unfortunately did NOT choose a different route
today, switched lanes repeatedly, slowing the traffic with each whim. Others
slowed to a near stop so they could gape at the damaged vehicles and the first
responders working the scene. As I inched past the chaos, I sent up a quick
prayer for the people involved in the accident, knowing that this day was
really off to a bad start for them. I was still hopeful, though, that the
traffic would thin now and I could still salvage MY day and get to work just
slightly late.
It’s ok, I reassured the anxious lady in the rearview mirror
when I caught her eye, it’s ok. The traffic ahead is beginning to pick up speed.
It’s still gonna be a good day!
The mirror-lady puffed out her cheeks and blew frustration
out as she looked back at me. Something about her tight expression spoke to me,
“Are we sure about this stuff we keep spouting?
Are we sure it is not just delusion? If these positive affirmations of
ours work so well, then why is so much negative stuff happening this morning?
When’s this good day we foretold going to start?”
I looked away from her gaze, left her questions unanswered, and
concentrated on the road ahead. Good day! Good day! I kept reminding myself.
I arrived at my office building six minutes late and swung
into the closest parking place I could find. Sadly, that space was in the far
back corner of the lot, a good 3-minute walk to the employee entrance. Grabbing
my workbag and purse, I quickly locked the car and began the trek, affirming
myself with each step. You are here safely; all is well; it’s gonna be a good
day!
Once inside the building, I tried to slip past Scott
Hudgins’s cubicle without notice. Things had been awkward between us since our
one ill-fated date. He had not been happy at the end of the long evening when he leaned in for a goodnight kiss at my doorway and I offered my cheek. And now I
had run out of ways to turn down a second date with him. He’s a good guy, but
I’d just don’t see anything in our future beyond friendship and collegiality.
But avoiding Scott was not in the cards for me this morning.
“Oh, hi, Scott.” I made my voice breathless as I rushed past his outstretched
hand in the hallway. “I can’t stop to chat this morning. I’m running late again,
and I need to get checked in and speak to Nancy.” I didn’t look back to see the
effect of my brush-off.
By noon, the migraine, which had begun in traffic and built
up as I clocked in and explained my late arrival to the boss, was flaunting her
most flamboyant persona – not only cranking out grinding pain but also
producing zigzag lights mimicking those at the morning’s accident scene. She
displayed lines and dots in all colors. These visual distractions paraded
across the world my eyes tried to focus on; and dark spots in my vision made it
tricky to even SEE the computer screen much less interpret the data on it. I knew
that my pounding head wouldn’t let me work through lunch to make up the minutes
I’d lost at the beginning of the work day. These visual disturbances, I knew
from experience, would not go away until I rested in quiet darkness for at
least 20 minutes.
A lump of anxiety grew in my throat as I left my desk and
went into the plush and more softly-lit employee lounge. I sank thankfully into
one of the of the upholstered chairs there and closed my eyes. My earlier search
for cash to buy some lunch had revealed that when I changed purses this morning
I had neglected to transfer my money clip and had no money for lunch; so I carried
with me a granola bar of indeterminate age that I had unearthed from the back
of my bottom desk drawer.
Still determined to be positive, I reminded myself that the
granola bar was a good thing. If I hadn’t thought ahead and built up an
emergency snack stash, I wouldn’t have had anything for lunch.
See. It’s all okay. You have lunch, I told myself. It is
high protein and fiber with an acceptable number of calories. Remember those
tight pants this morning? See, a light lunch is a good thing!
I reminded my determined-to-be-positive self, it’s gonna be
a good day.
Eyes closed, I was dimly aware of someone entering the
lounge and inserting money into the vending machine.
“Wow! Look at that!” a male voice exclaimed. “I got two
apples instead of one!” he continued.
I opened my eyes in response to the enthusiastic and
unfamiliar voice. I looked up to see two startling green eyes focused on my
face. Those eyes were at home on an angular face sporting a fashionably scruffy
chin and strong jawline. My eyes took in the good-looking stranger with the
close-cropped light brown hair. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“A-are you okay?” the stranger asked, a little uncertainly.
No doubt my pain-distorted visage had alerted him to my unwell state. Instead
of hurriedly finessing a quick exit to avoid engaging, he looked at me with
concern and inquired again, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I began, “I had a migraine, but it’s easing up
now.” I covered my face, blocking out the light, the man, and the
embarrassment. First new man I’d met in months, and I was certainly not making
a favorable impression! And how nice that he seems concerned for the welfare of
a stranger! Who was this man anyway? I just hoped he’d leave without getting a
good look at me. If he didn’t recognize me later, I might get another chance to
make a good first impression.
Didn’t happen. “Here,” he said, “I’ll bet an apple would
help that headache. The machine gave me two!”
I looked up to see a shiny red apple in his extended hand
and kindness and concern in those amazing green eyes.
“Here,” the man said again, his voice much lower now, as he leaned
down and gazed at me with interest. “I’ve had such a great morning – and now an
extra apple!”
The apple lay in the palm of the broad masculine hand he extended
toward me. I couldn’t help noticing that there was no ring on his
nicely-manicured ring finger as I reached out to accept the apple and his
concern. “Thank you!”
“May I sit?” He asked gesturing to the chair beside mine. “Can
I get you an aspirin or something for the headache? I’m Mason Hardy, by the
way. Today’s my first day in accounting. I’m Mr. Madison’s new executive assistant.”
I finally found my voice. “Nice to meet you, Mason from
accounting. No thanks on the aspirin; the headache is already abating. I’m
Sarah Eliott from payroll.”
He was handsome. Incredibly so. I couldn’t even bear to
think about how I must look to him. I knew my hair was mussed from the temple
massages I’d given myself in an effort to reduce the pain. I knew my morning
make-up was long gone. Tears threatened behind my eyes again, choking my
throat. I thought about turning away. I wanted to explain, to tell him that I
wasn’t normally this big a mess, but I clenched my teeth and held my tongue.
I focused on the light blue fabric of his suit coat and
reminded myself that he was a kind stranger who had offered to help. I had said
thank you for the apple, and that’s enough. I didn’t need to thank him again,
or apologize, or explain myself.
All of these thoughts cascaded through my blood in a matter
of seconds Then I remembered the promise I’d made myself to stop avoiding social
interactions for fear of rejection. Besides, this man seemed to be actually flirting
mildly with me. Maybe I didn’t look as frazzled as I thought.
So I smiled at him - that easy warm kind of smile that I’d
been practicing in the mirror this morning. I had etched it into my psyche. I
made all the lines of my face tilt upwards, as his had when he smiled at me. I
watched his green eyes turn more golden as the sunlight coming in the window
behind me struck his face. I took a bite of the apple and consciously relaxed
the tension in my neck muscles.
I finally found my voice. “So, Mason, tell me about this
great morning you’ve had.”
As Mason talked about the easy working rapport he’s already established
with his new boss, I found myself relaxing into the friendly conversation as if
we had not just met. He told me a little about his previous job; and we
discovered that we had both played golf in college, although neither of us has
played much since graduation. He was easy to be with. There seemed to be a
kinship there as we jumped from subject to subject, discovering several shared
interests. As we sat, eating our apples and maintaining frequent eye contact in
conversation, he smiled often, and those green eyes sparkled.
He asked about the company gym, and I told him I usually
worked out immediately after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I didn’t mention
that I’d only started this routine about six weeks ago.
“Will you think I’m a stalker if I join you there tomorrow?”
he asked with a smile.
“That’d be great,” I said. “Don’t worry. If it turns into
stalking, I know your boss, and I can send him a memo!” I joked.
He stood. “Well, speaking of my boss, I’d better get back to
work. I’m glad I met you, Sarah from Payroll. I hope your migraine goes away
soon. See you tomorrow!”
I stood too and held out my hand, “Thanks for the apple and
the conversation, Mason from Accounting. See you in the gym tomorrow.”
As he disappeared, I suddenly realized that my migraine
seemed to be gone. Maybe all I had needed was a little food and some pleasant
conversation. I tucked the uneaten granola bar into my pocket as I walked into
the washroom and took care of business, preparing to go back to my desk. As I
washed my hands and repaired my hair and make up, the lady in the mirror kept
smiling at me.
“What are you grinning about?” I asked, with a smile of my
own.
And we stood there – the lady and me – both just smiling
these big ol’ smiles.
Feeling a little sheepish, I reached out and bumped fists
with her.
“We said it first thing this morning, right?!’ she winked.
“Today is a good day,” we chorused.
