2001-10-01 - 11:47 p.m.
A glimpse in the mirror

Have you ever looked in a mirror, and just for an instant, seen yourself as you could be, as you want to be, the way the person inside you *should* look, instead of the way you really do? Go with this. It sounds weird, but it was an oddly profound experience for me ...

It happened to me this weekend. I went home Saturday morning for a haircut with Mom. Since Dad was hunting, we decided to do the Girl Thing and hit Murphy's restaurant for a chef salad on the way back, then drift through the sales racks at WalMart. Being all poor lately had me crimping my wallet shut, but Mom told me if I found a couple of shirts on clearance, she'd buy them for me.

There were a few bright summer shirts on the clearance rack. I scrunched my nose at them, but they were only $3.00 and they had the square neck that looks droopy on Mom, but fabulous on me. Something about long torsos and the shape of my collarbones. They had short sleeves and were slightly flared at the waist, meant to be worn over jeans, not tucked in. I picked up one in sage green with a peach-colored blossom print, and headed for the dressing room.

It wasn't then, that the image hit me. Oh, the shirt looked damn good on me, even with the old worn jeans I was wearing. It would have looked even better if I had been wearing my best bra. But that wasn't what triggered it. It was later, after I left, when I emptied my shopping bags.

I had added a scarlet one to the basket on the way out without trying it on, since I already knew the shape flattered me, and being a Winter, I naturally look good that color. I decided I could wear it to work on Monday, so I began pondering what to wear it with. I held it up in front of me in the bathroom mirror.

Then, all of a sudden, there IT was, hovering behind my eyes, as real as what was actually reflected back.

Same scarlet shirt, with its flattering cut. Slightly slimmer waist, to fit a size ten pair of leather pants, a rich, reddish color of chocolate brown that almost matched my hair. Long jacket, same leather, not as long as a trench, but past my hips. Scarlet lipstick. Reds and browns for eyeshadow, turning my eyes from green-and-gold to a dark shade of smoke. Not garishly made up, you understand, but enough to be noticeable. Scarlet fingernails. Brown leather boots with chunky inch-high heels. Dangly gold-and-ruby earrings. A gold cross necklace, resting in the hollow of my throat. A few rings, a flash of golden wristwatch. Same haircut, medium-short, flipped up just above the shoulders. An impression of lean muscle mass and lithe, dancer's grace. Above all, a confident, old-soul smile, hovering on my lips.

I turned away from the mirror. The image had startled me with its strength. It had seemed more real than my actual reflection, as if the me of here-and-now was a mere temporary disguise. I went and got a hanger, and put the shirt away; I decided not to think about it again until Monday morning.

So this morning, guess what happened? There she was again, my confident self, hovering in my thoughts when I held up the scarlet shirt. So I did the only thing I could; I put on the shirt. Then ... I put on my blue-jean jumper dress.

Still scarlet sleeves. Still square neckline. Still dangly earrings. Still good enough to get second glances from male passersby. But compared to what I had seen ... I felt frumpy. Secretary-ish. Tame.

Damn. I wish I had money. I am feeling a serious need for leather.