By: Melisa Peterson Lewis

Previously published with the Maryland Writers Association

The mirror lied. Her spirit identified as a woman half her age, and at forty-eight, the vision of herself balanced between unfair and not-so-bad.

Her smile, edged by wrinkles, showed how often she laughed. Brown, curly hair frizzed beyond control, now thinner than it once was, despite another product failing to save the day. Perhaps her cheeks were a bit more sunken than before; the chubbiness of youth had let go.

Some things connected her to her favorite days: good sex, cigarettes during social hour, and a song on the radio that took her to more carefree times. The once seemingly edgy songs from her youth were now played in grocery stores.

The path she’d wandered was sometimes dark and unforgiving. Years of wrong choices proved two lessons: care more or care less. Choose wisely which it is supposed to be.

She stood in front of the bathroom vanity, scrubbing cream into her face and getting ready for bed. Fingertips traced the path from her cheekbone to the crow’s feet, cracking their way along her skin. If she could fill them in with putty or spackle, she’d look like she felt inside. But the lines were here to stay. Even if they lied. There was no way possible she was old enough to have earned all these wrinkles.

When she went to bed, she settled in on her side, her back turned to her partner. While thinking about today and the things she hadn’t gotten to do, and tomorrow with the things she needed to do, her husband’s hand crept up her spine. It had been the same for the last thirteen years, though a little less spontaneous, his touch still tender.

He kissed her shoulder. “I love you.”

“You too,” she said.

Once her husband understood he wouldn’t be in the missionary position tonight, a serenade of snoring filled the room, indicating that he was asleep. She tiptoed her way from bed and into the bathroom to peer at herself again.

I’m not halfway through this life.

How impossible it seemed that her body was so different than the age she felt in her mind. Or, possibly, the mind didn’t age, but the body did. Also, unfair. She had always been the same person. Sure, there were lessons and wisdom gained along the way, and strangely, she wouldn’t choose to do it all over again, but why were the years so much shorter than the days?

Her makeup bag, full of expensive products to conceal her age, sat on the vanity. She slid the zipper open, revealing a cornucopia of primers, powders, and serums promising a youthful look. She examined them, choosing the lipstick that hid at the bottom.

Passion Pink was the color she wore on her wedding day. With puckered lips, she added a pink, shimmery hue.

Ah, there you are. I’ve missed you. Come back?

Was that woman hiding? It was hard to see her. The girl from before waved a distant hello. Or was it goodbye?

She grabbed a handful of toilet paper and swiped at her lips. The evidence flushed down the toilet immediately. Her focus fell on the sink, where spots of dried toothpaste clung to the porcelain.  Her husband had always been messy. A smile appeared on her face. Lines stretched their way beside her eyes like eyelashes creased into the skin.

The threat of tears prickled her nostrils, and she exhaled a long breath. There’s nothing she would take back, even the self-criticism that came out of nowhere. How dare she look at herself with disgust. This body, this skin, and the expressions worn so often were permanently mapped on her face.  

She turned off the light and crawled back into bed, running her cold hand over her husband’s back, causing him to jump and mumble. His snoring was interrupted for only a moment.

“I love me, too,” she whispered.

I hope you have enjoyed this short story and sample of my work. I have several full length novels published that I think you would also enjoy.