Life Lines

The warm cloth hits her skin. She takes a moment to cover her face. She closes her eyes and lets the water slowly drip down her cheeks making swirling pools of color on the white counter top. She glances up to the mirror to see smears of black and purple. She continues to wipe her eyes, each swipe removing more of the woman she plays and slowly revealing the girl underneath. The one she works so hard to protect.
Wipe.
The color of her face changes.
Wipe.
She catches a glimpse of the scar she bares from a silly childhood game.
Wipe.
Away goes red lips that now appear pale pink.
Lips she uses to fill those long days with useless words.
Empty words.
She scrubs harder.
Rinse.
Wipe.
Revelations of freckles. Each one reminding her of a childhood that some would not want to remember and that others would view as a charishable gift.
If they only knew.
Wipe.
Sigh.
There they are.
Wrinkles. Those horrible reminders that she is not in her twenties anymore, no matter how many layers are used to cover them up. She tries to remember the words . . . 'life lines'.
"Life Lines." Her grandma used to say.
Huh.
Wipe.
Rinse.
Dry.

She stands staring blankly at a woman she barely knows and at the same time, knows all too well.
Cold eyes stare back.
Broken.

A scream.

She bolts to her room, out the bathroom through her own room, passed the crib with the sleeping baby. Her step is wide as she is trying to avoid the creek of the hall floor and to maneuver around toys that didn't quite find their way back to the bin before lights out. She peeks into another door. And there he lays, asleep.

Another scream startles her.

She shakes her head and without a passing thought bolts to the next room. The room that holds her 'treasure'. A scared little girl sits up in her bed. Shaking little arms and a quiver in her lip. She reaches out those shaky hands and quickly is swept up. She holds this little girl even though tiny arms filled with fear may hold more firmly than those of her own.

She places the back of her hand to her head. No fever.
She peers out the windows. No one there.
She glances in her bed.

"Does your tummy hurt?"

Whimper.
"No."

She takes a breath. They both do.

Bad dreams can startle us all.

She stands holding her in her arms like a baby. Running her fingers through brown curls. Tiny fingers clutched onto bigger ones, not ready to be released. She doesn't let go. And she sits. A kiss on the freckle that graces that forehead and another on chunky cheeks.
She stares into big sparkling brown eyes.
She is lost in a face that in so many ways mirrors her own.

She softly lays her down.

Whispers.
"It's time little one. Close those eyes."
"Mommy, I love you."
"I love you too, princess."
"Mommy is so pretty."

Pause. Smile. Sincerity. Grace. Beauty.

"You are so pretty too my love, goodnight."

A final glance.
The door shuts.

She returns to that mirror and takes a moment to truly look at herself. She smiles. Another life line.
She turns out the light and creeps once again passed the little one still sound asleep. She smiles, there's yet another.

She crawls into her bed and closes her eyes, for tomorrow will be another test of life.
She will return to that mirror in the morning and once again cover her face. Making each scar, freckle, and wrinkle disappear will become her task. However, maybe it's okay to let a few show, after all, someone thinks she's 'so pretty' even without all the extra colors.