Her eyes reluctantly opened, a slow easy smile spreading across her face, until she remembered what day it was. Dread began to fill her body, starting with her toes. She sighed and got out of bed. Observing her morning rituals, she embraced the necessity of today’s activities. Sitting in meditation, she tried fruitlessly to quell her apprehension. She was doing it for her son. He had waited a long time to find his happiness and he needed her to be there, and not embarrass him by being ‘too’ anything i.e.. Too loud, too raw, too real, too emotional … and she was often ‘too’-it-all.
Stepping out of the shower, she walked naked the hallway/living room where long, antique oak clothes rack ran the length of the wall outside her bedroom. She surveyed the different suits hanging there. Discomfort filled her belly as she padded over to the chaise and sat down perusing the various suits. One for every occasion, which one should she don. Which one was perfect? Which one allowed the circumstances to unfold the way they wanted them too.
Standing up, she tossed her head, stepping purposely toward the clothing rack, universes, galaxies, and supernovas orbiting and swaying with her hips. Tentatively, she reached her hand toward the rather sedate, monochromatic, persona of middle class, middle aged woman and covering up the splendiferous nature of her true self, she stepped into the dull, proper, uniform, the even, average façade-suit. She felt the light of her authentic being dim, as she zipped up the suit, patting it down in places where it bunched up and wrinkled. I mean why not, she thought, everyone there would be wearing one. It was expected. No-one wanted to see the brilliance of the true being underneath the opaque livery. The empty peg was noticeable in the midst of the four uniforms hanging there. Head to toe wear, dull enough to mute the most wondrous, lit spirits.
She gazed back at the peg resentfully, as she made her way to her door, properly contained, and controlled inside the dismal get up and prepared to fit in.