In a heart shaped box a mother keeps her children’s teeth. As she looks at them now she can’t believe how these tiny teeth used to be in their tiny mouthes. How their tiny hands used to hold hers walking down the street. How their tiny little heads would bob as they used to sit impatiently as she’d brush their hair. How their tiny little feet would jump and run whenever she got home yelling “mommy mommy”. She would give anything to go back to those days. Now young adults her daughters were not so tiny. One was off at college the other had just gotten married earlier this year. An empty nester, emphasis on the empty. It’s crazy how she spent so much time stressing and rushing and wishing for a moment of peace, and now that she had it she just wanted to be sneaking into their rooms at the crack of dawn to sneak these tiny teeth from under their pillows and replacing it with a couple dollars.
Everyday felt the same now, wake up, shower, coffee, work Monday- Thursday , home, dinner, wine, book, bed. Her job was pretty much done, her daughters were self sufficient and taking on the world. She should be proud, it wasn’t easy. It’s still not easy. She closes heart shaped box and places it back in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Picks up her book and reads until her eyes grow tired then turns over and hits the light. Still she lies awake thinking; remembering. Her reminiscence is disrupted by rustling sound outside her window. She ignores it for a bit then starts to hear a soft mewing sound. Curious, she peeks through the blinds and can just barely see the tip of a white tail. It’s freezing out she thinks, it’s about 40 degrees out what is a cat doing outside in this type of weather. She puts on her robe and slippers and grabs a flashlight before walking through the house to the kitchen door. Once outside she can really feel the wind chill, and clasps her robe tight while taking quick little hops to the bush. Sure enough it’s a small cat, looks like someone’s pet, it’s too clean to leave outdoors. The cat starts stroking at her legs so she scoops it up and rushes back inside. In the light of her kitchen she can see better that the cat is more of a kitten, and very slight. A little too thin, and with a little cut on its ear. She grabs a laundry basket tossing the few dirty towels to the corner, and grabs a blanket from her linen closet to make it a warm bed. She places the kitten inside and it immediately burrows into the blanket. She brings the basket to her room and lays it beside her bed, and soon drifts off to sleep.
She awakes to mewing and groggily remembers finding the kitten the night before. As the first rays of sunlight start to stream through her window she thinks how grateful she is to have a task to do on this slow Sunday . Find out if this kitten has a home. After her typical shower, coffee, and milk for kitty, she drives over to her local humane society to see if she can bring the cat in to find out if it has a chip or anything to identify it. After a quick look over the kitty they determine it’s a boy, estimated to be about 6 months old, and no chip. The shelter offers to take the cat in, but she declines. Back at home she decides her best bet is to post a picture of the kitty on her neighborhood app and sees if anyone is missing him. He’s feeling playful now and bounding around the carpet over the livingroom playing with a loose string on her throw blanket that’s partially hanging off the couch. Smiling at the whimsy she takes a few pictures and posts them. Figuring he must be hungry she digs through her cabinets until she finds a can of tuna and puts some in an old Tupperware bowl for him. As she scrapes into the bowl he’s mewing at her feet and rubbing back and forth across her ankles. As soon as the bowl is placed down he devours it. She wonders if he has a home and when the last time he had a meal was. A kitten as cute as this must have a home she thinks, but can’t help that hope maybe he doesn’t. It’s nice to be needed, even if it’s just by a cat.
The afternoon passes with her reading, and watching some old rom com on tv, with the kitten curled up in her lap. She gently strokes his fur. As the day passes and she still has no response from anybody recognizing the kitten she contemplates just keeping him. This is the best Sunday she’s had in a while, and clearly if he ever had an owner they’re not caring for him properly. She finds herself smiling to herself at the thought of keeping him, something she hasn’t done in quite a while. On a whim she decides to delete the post all together, puts the kitten back in his makeshift bed, and heads for the nearest pet shop. An hour later she’s home showing her new baby boy all the things she got him, a little bed, some food and water bowls, cat foot, toys, and a little collar complete with a tag. She spent about 20 minutes contemplating a name while she picked out that tag but settled on Peeta and had it custom engraved with that name and his phone number. Peeta she tells him with a little squeeze, that will be your name.
After some cat food for Peeta and some pasta for her she heads toward bed with Peeta running alongside her curving himself between her legs. She nestles him into his little bed beside hers and lays with one arm over the edge petting him. She falls asleep this way, one arm tucked under her chin the other resting on Peeta’s back. Monday morning comes all too soon and she wakes just before her alarm to Peeta’s sweet mewing. As she gets up and showers and goes to make coffee she notices on Peeta’s bed one of his little whiskers has fallen out. She picks it up and stares at it as her curls himself around her ankle batting at the edge of her long robe. She reaches into her bottom drawer and places the little whisker on a heart shaped box where she keeps all thee daughters little baby teeth and she smiles.
I give the impression that I’m a really nice person, and truly I am, or I try to be. But when I look in the mirror I know it’s not enough. If it’s easy, I’m a good person. If it’s convenient, I’m a good person. If I’m being watched, I am a good person. But in my heart of hearts, when it comes to only things I know, I am scared. When I look in the mirror I see fear. There are obvious steps that I need to take to take care of myself and the people I love, but I simply cannot do them. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I can’t face it. Most days I won’t even look in the mirror, for fear of what I’ll see. Today I made the mistake of looking up.
I awoke this morning, per usual with my back aching and stiff. I stumbled out of bed, and washed my face, this is standard, and I normally just stare at the sink as I do. For whatever reason this morning I looked up and stared at my reflection. It always startles me when this happens because it’s rarely, I don’t even realize I’ve been avoiding mirrors until I happen to glimpse my reflection. The way I look in my mind is not the way I look in reality. In my mind I’m still younger, slimmer, my skin is smoother, my eyes brighter, I’m not weighed down by anxiety, I don’t have lines etched across my forhead, or grays coming in at my hair line.
It’s not about aging, that’s a gift, I honestly don’t mind that I look older. I mind what has caused my aging, it’s my own self doubt, self neglect. It’s the way I am completely consumed with everyone around me, and all my feelings are a reflection of their feelings. How every little thing that bothers them drives me insane. How every little thing that I think might bother them, that hasn’t even happened, has me on edge. I’m a ball of nerves and the only time I’m forced to acknowledge it is when I look in the mirror.
Not a single soul knows this about me, if ever anyone found out they’d be shocked. It makes me wonder if I’m really that good at hiding, or if nobody is actually looking. Then it makes me wonder if I feel this way and nobody can tell, then maybe my people feel this way and I start to stress about that.
After a moment that lasts way to long I was able to look away, and go back to my morning routine. I’m a teacher, I have kids waiting for me at work and work is the only place in my life where I feel like I know what I’m doing. Teaching is hard work, but I’ve been doing it for my entire adult life, and it’s the only area where I actually feel confident. I rush to work in the mornings and dread coming home in the evenings. If I don’t have to face the sources of my anxiety I can ignore them better.
On my commute to work I listen to the same songs I’ve been listening to since I was in high school, they’re familiar and I don’t need to worry about how new music might make me feel. When I arrive I parked in the same spot at the back of the lot to allow others to have a closer space. I make coffee in the lounge, although I don’t actually like coffee and never drink a drop. I head to my classroom and find my best friend waiting at my door, with a frown on her face. My stomach drops, but I smile and wish her a good morning. “Is it?” She replies and then launches into a play by play of how her son didn’t want to go to school this morning, how he’s not doing well and she doesn’t know what to do. She’s a teacher herself but teaching your child, especially one who doesn’t want to learn from you is stressful. I become consumed with how I could help, but offer nothing but my sympathy. I know how to help, I’ve been teaching for twice as long as her, but I can’t get the words out. The first bell rings and she rushes out, I immediately take some deep breaths to try to put it out of my mind and go to the door to smile as my kids walk in.
The day goes by in a blur and too soon I’m driving home. New Kids on the Block plays on the radio when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. It’s my dad, I answer with a cheery “hey pop, how’s it going?” Although I know the answer, lonely. My dad lives alone, since my mom died last year and I don’t spend enough time with him. I love my father so very much, but I put it off because he brings my fears and anxiety to the forefront of my mind whenever I see him. He asks about how I’m feeling, if I’m painting anytjing new (I’m not, I want too but that simple joy is to much to bare and I haven’t touched a canvas in months). He’ll ask about my long time partner Celia, if we ever plan to get married (do we?). We probably would if I’d get up the nerve to ask, but I worry I’m just convenient to her and don’t want to face the rejection. It’s easier just to avoid spending time with my dad, but then I just feel guilty for that too. He tells me about how the neighbor for a new puppy and how cute he is, I should come by and see him, and talks about the puppy I had growing up. I listen and comment occasionally but make no commitments to stop by, and when I pull into the driveway I let him know I have to go.
I make it home before Celia and start dinner, chicken tortellini with garlic bread. It’s comfort food, Celia hasn’t text me much today so I worry she’s had a hard day at work. She’s a nurse, it’s busy and hard work, I’m just plating the food as she walks in and sighs as she puts her bag down by the door. I walk right over to embrace her and ask how her day went. “Rough” she says, they lost 3 patients, she barely got a break, she’s starving. I lose my appetite thinking about how I can erase her bad day, maybe a movie, but maybe she’s to tired and that’ll annoy her. I could give her a massage, but maybe she’ll feel smothered. I end up just listening, and forcing some food down. After dinner she heads to the shower saying she just wants to go to bed. I wait in bed book in hand for her to join me. When she does she falls quickly asleep and I keep reading until my eyes grow heavy. I brush my teeth, focused on my worries when I suddenly glance up and see my reflection in the mirror again. My cheeks are flushed, my face looks haggard, I look away quickly, then force myself to look back. I look exhausted, I’m tired of being exhausted, I practice my smile, the one I give everyone else, but never myself. I smile until it hurts and start to cry. Why did I look in the mirror?
Everything is poetry I see it in the trees, and the stars I see is in my family and friends I see it in the birds and butterflies
Everything is poetry I hear it in music and song I hear it in the wind and waves I hear it in the voices of the people I pass
Everything is poetry I smell it in the breeze and in fire I smell it in fresh baked cookies I smell it in the candles I light each evening
Everything is poetry I speak it whenever I tell someone I love them I speak it in prayer and praise I speak it when I vent my hearts sorrows and fears
Everything is poetry I feel it in my heart and soul I feel it in the tears that trickle down my eyes I feel it with each passing breath
Do you ever feel like you can’t keep your balance no matter how hard you try. Everyone around you seems to have it together but deep down you know it’s just a lie. Nobody knows what they’re doing, we’re all just getting by.
But some people manage to pirouette, while you just manage to move along the wall. For fear if you let got for a second, all you’ll do is fall. Your perception of their grace and talent doesn’t mean they’ve got it all.
If all you can do is hold onto the wall, please just keep holding tight. Don’t worry about how far others progress, just keep strong in your fight. And do your best to find your balance, everything will be alright.
