What we see

A strange thing happened last week. As I was going out the front door, I slipped. Snow was melting on the roof over the second floor, dripping down and re-freezing again on the cold stone below. My feet flew out and I landed on my poor back, one stair cracked across the middle of the back, the other stair across the low back.

For a brief moment I thought I might die, but then I realized I wouldn’t, so I crawled around and gathered up my scattered things, dusted off my dignity and headed out for the afternoon’s appointment.

Later on, I was very stiff and achy, especially across the middle. (This was before the severe pain in the low back came that evening—oh very bad.) I found a mirror where I could twist around and look at my back, as if that would tell me anything.

All the time Jay tells me I’m beautiful. I tell him we have mirrors. I can see what I look like, and he’s just buttering me up, hoping for a little. He says he’ll take what he can get, but he’s not buttering me up. “You don’t believe me.”

Well, that afternoon, twisted around in an unfamiliar angle, I didn’t even recognize myself for a minute. I saw curves—the blonde hair over the curve of my shoulder, the place where my spine dips in over the small of the back, the girly curve of hip and waist, lovely creamy skin. All at once I realized he’s not lying. He sees different things than I do.

I see my goofy-looking hair, funny nose, the space in my teeth, the sun damage, the fifteen pounds I want to lose… and I don’t even care all that much. Life isn’t a beauty contest, and I’m well into middle age…. Being beautiful is for the young. At this point all I have to be is presentable.

Yet when I look at him, I see his crystal blue eyes, same as he had at 17, his dark hair. I actually like the gray at his temples, his crow’s feet, his freckled shoulders, the story in his busted up hands, and I’m not lying either, not buttering him up. I dunno. I don’t even notice any flaws. Well. He does drive too fast, and he gets riled up about dumb things and rants on and on. But he’s fine—perfect.

Yet one more lesson in lightening up, eh? For more than just me, I’m guessing. Evidently we’re in this together: I hear people I think are cute complaining about their double chins and big ears, bald spots and so forth. I don’t see it either, just see faces I love. love, Val