Hands…

I looked at her from the corner of the eye, her translucent skin catching my attention. Her hands glistening in the light that flooded the room, little beads of sweat sparkling like diamonds. They looked so beautiful, so divine. I could see the blue veins protruding  from under her skin, forming  a distinct pattern, they looked like rivers to me, all clustering together at the base of her palm like it was the sea.

What was that at the base of her palm?, an ugly scar at her wrist. A mark on her beautiful hands. There was nothing spectacular about it like the rest of her hand. It looked good on her though. Made her more human , and at once distorted the goddess like stature that I had begun to construct for her.

She noticed me staring at the ugliness and quickly placed her other hand on it. I didn’t look up to see the embarrassment in her eyes, but I could very well picture it. The embarrassment about the mistakes made in her past. The tremble in her hands said it all.

Oh!  Such pretty hands. Hands which had not been made to do hard labour. Hands which had been kissed at many a cocktail parties at the Mayors residence. I could see them wrapped around a successful man. A trophy wife. That is what she must be.

My mind quickly constructed the image of the life she must have lead. The wholeness that must have appeared to people around her but the emptiness about which only she knew. Her dark secret was out now! I chuckled as I continued to admire them.

Her perfect life shattered in the eyes of the envious souls. A moment of weakness and the lie could no longer be contained within. A constant reminder of how she couldn’t put an end to it. She wasn’t successful in doing it. The scar stared at her as if mocking her futile attempts to end the curse which had been cast on her. She had no choice but to live with it.

Could it all be forgotten? Or would the past still be haunting her, slowly drawing the life out of her, poisoning her existence. Could she ever be what she was before? Would she be treated differently? Would she be judged differently? Did people think she was insane? Would people whisper to each other at gatherings about the insanity which engulfed her .Would they speak to her in cautious hushed tones?Would no one kiss her hand again? Would they still be envious of her?  Time would tell, time would tell.

Her hand was placed on her thigh. A beautiful sapphire ring fitted perfectly on her ring finger. It bore a striking resemblance to her own life. Beautiful to everybody else but causing a hindrance in the blood from flowing freely to the tip of the finger. She fidgeted a little with it. Rotated it a little, as if trying to take it out just like she had tried with her own life. After a few weak attempts she gave up. She let the ring be lodged in her finger as she stretched her hand and gazed at it from a distance, trying to see the beauty of it, just like everybody else saw it…from a distance.

Her hands now seemed relaxed. The sweat beads were gone. She turned her hand again and the scar was visible. This time she let it be. It was as if she was trying to tell the world that she wasn’t ashamed of what she had done. I liked that about her. I liked the boldness in the little gesture. But much to my dismay she turned her hand again to the pretty side, the side with the ring. It must not be easy to show an ugly past to everybody around. I wondered how she lived with that truth.

O! such beauty. If Only she knew that what she had was what everybody desired. But only she knew that she was worse than the worst, what she wanted was what everybody else already had…a life. She was nothing but a well crafted doll. The creator had not been kind enough to breathe life into her. She was waiting for her Blue fairy.

My thoughts were disrupted by the nurses voice “The doctor is ready to see you Miss”.

I got up to walk toward the door that was held open by nurse.”Oh! what a beautiful sapphire ring that is Miss, it looks so perfect on you”, the nurse remarked.

“It does , doesn’t it” ,I wryly replied as I reluctantly entered the psychiatrist’s office.

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sania

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