Snapshots

Someone who is lost in their own thoughts has a certain beauty, whether it be physical or mental. A lovely older woman who appeared to be in her late forties was seated there. Her eyes, which were dark chocolate in color and had a feeling of confusion, were vacant. Her hands are holding a walking stick, her lips are sealed tightly together, and her brows are furrowing as she struggles against the hideous claws of whatever it is she is fighting. She sat motionless in the hard plastic chair, her eyes aimlessly scanning the room. I ponder the woman’s thoughts. Stuffed into a long fur trench coat, wearing a pair of too-short jeans, and wearing walking shoes. I fix my gaze on the lovely face with the faint lines of laughter. Before this, who was she? Her name, Belinda, is all I know.

Her body still has the leanness of a dancer. She is slightly hunched over and holding onto her walking stick as if it will keep her on the ground. Funny thing? She is being prevented from floating away, as she once did, by that pale brown fragment of a dead tree. Belinda glided across the stages flashing her bright red lips and wide toothy grin. She would dress in costumes that sparkled in the stage lighting. Belinda was graceful and practiced ballet, but as she aged, the injuries caught up with her.

No, as you can see, Belinda had to be a gymnast. Pole-vaulting without smiling over wide platforms. She wouldn’t have exhibited any fear of those menacing beams and would have been stoic. Her cheekbones are highlighted by the high ponytail she wears. Those almond-shaped eyes weren’t vacant like they are right now; instead, they were filled with ferocity.

Enough already; allow me to introduce you to Belinda and describe her origins. She was raised by two parents who had never shown affection for one another. They never expressed any emotions and were apathetic. Uninterested, young Belinda observed the interactions between these strangers, named mom and dad. As she developed into a young adult, the absence of affection caused her to look for it between other people’s legs. Belinda was aware of her attractiveness and vivacity. Full of life, with the words “I will fuck you to make you love me” written across her forehead. She was aware though that it never made her lover stay.

Since she had experienced a pregnancy scare at the time, she was a big girl and had seen this. Her pants were around her ankles as she sat on the chilly porcelain toilet seat. Her stomach started to feel queasy, and her esophagus started to burn. On the inexpensive drugstore test, Belinda had just urinated. In this picture, she was only fifteen years old, and her fingers shook. She was too young to care for a child, so she drank whenever she had the chance to do so to stave off the gnawing loneliness. How would she manage to raise a child by herself? The moment he heard, the slacker did indeed flee. He was a man who could have passed for her father, and as soon as she mentioned that her period was late, he simply got up and left. The only way she knew to keep them was to wrap her legs around their waist and hold on for dear life. At this point, she wanted that father figure.

You see, she wasn’t always like this. Belinda was a young girl with big dreams and wide eyes. Her circumstances prevented her from undergoing the necessary growth to enable them. However, she was still focusing on the unkempt wall tile of some unassuming gas station. She was reluctant to run the risk of returning home and peeing on this inferior plastic. After a few seconds passed, the stupid box instructed the user to wait five minutes before reading the intimidating blue plus sign or single line. She laughed out loud right then and there, doubling over and still clutching the worst ten dollars she had ever spent. As the rumble emitted from the deepest part of her, her middle rested on her slim thighs. The rest of her life was shaped by this one event. If she kept it, her cruel father would rip the unborn child from the security of her womb. Her mother would cry and tell her that this being represented the only unadulterated love the world had to offer. At age fifteen, Belinda now had an unquenchable desire to have children. Then reality set in, that blue line showed up, and things resumed as usual.

The murderous womb she had cradled in her pelvis was foreshadowed by the dark humor of that particular moment in that filthy bathroom. At the age of 22, Belinda learned that she would not be able to become pregnant. She was obscured by this gloom. She was deemed unlovable and unworthy of affection even by her own body.

Belinda, however, was none of these things. As an alternative, she was a woman waiting for her husband to take her arm in a store. directing her to a life I will never experience. If it’s necessary to know, this man saved her. just as he took her arm and supported her while standing, he gave her love and security. They are more in tune and closer in age. Love was naturally occurring; it was never produced through the nectar of desperation.

In their most recent photo, they are seen arm in arm with her leaning on his shoulder. Gingerly, her eyes lit up for a second... Belinda, my gymnast, dancer, and wild child. Can see yourself there?