The Reluctant I

I gazed in the mirror, not at the handsome face staring back, but at the astonishing scene behind it. She was tall and elegant. A black, velvet dress reached all the way to the floor; a slit on the side gave her leg room to breathe. She was the only woman not wearing white gloves, or any gloves at all. Her bare hands moved about freely as she spoke. And the man, the one to whom she was speaking—his hunched back, his squinted eyes, and tightly held cane.

Behind them, hosts of party guests indulged in the food set out for them. A bedazzled woman, whose body sparkled as much as her sequined dress, gorged on strawberries, red juice running down her chin and staining her teeth. She cackled at something her friend said and turned away, out of view.

Not all of the guests were like this, however. Plenty of them were quieter women, hair stiffly pulled up or back or all about. They wore heels that looked impossible to walk in, giving an extra five inches to some. Many of the women chose attire that demanded attention by its stark colors, by its wild shapes, or by its limited material. The men certainly didn’t mind that. If perfume could be seen, a cloud would envelop the scene.

The men were no less guilty with their cologne. They wore sharp suits, suede or leather shoes, and flashy wristwatches. Most of them talked about their foreign cars, foreign girlfriends, or foreign manners. These were worldly men, well-traveled and charming. The rest of them passed around glasses, filled to the brim, until one of the women stumbled into their arms.

The woman in the black dress continued talking to the older gentleman. He wore a green cap, indicative of his time in the army, and he smiled as she spoke. She asked him many questions at first, until she noticed he seemed to have a hard time speaking. After that, she began telling him more about her own life and asked him simpler questions to which he could respond with a nod. The last audible question she asked was if he would like to get a drink with her. He nodded, the smile never leaving his face. Her unmanicured hands wrapped around his only arm as they descended the small staircase. She held her dress up, treading carefully in her sensible shoes.

As they disappeared from view, my attention returned to the face in the mirror. The gaudy clothes, the pungent cologne, the vibrant necktie all paled in comparison.