She stood there, bare and a little cold. No one else was in the room. But, she was there. She wanted to take ownership over her body, her face, her eyes, and smile and laugh. Just… everything. She smiled at the thought of it, but upon seeing herself, she began to doubt. Maybe she could do it tomorrow after she’s had a chance to squeeze in a workout or two and squeeze out a few pounds. She could also get her hair done, her eyebrows tweezed. Then, she would be worthy, worthy of being claimed, and worthy of claiming.
She felt very cold. She felt very big. Big like there wasn’t enough space for her in the room. Big like the creation of life would come to a stand still till she made enough room for the others. So, she hid underneath her bed with the dust and other big, forgotten things. Kind of like her smile. What had that looked like again? She couldn’t remember.
A name was being called out, again and again. Whose name? She couldn’t say because she didn’t know. Her name? Possibly. Probably. If so, her name was being used too often, and she didn’t care for being used. She was scared, scared and big. And she carried that around with her, her bigness.
Years went by like weeks, and weeks went by like hours clocked in on her bare chest. Marks of time lost, immense amounts of time. She packaged it and hid it near her. The empty space below her bed was not big enough to veil so many big, forgotten things. It didn’t help that she consumed space like she consumed food, and she consumed food like she devoured envy. It was all a mess, and a big one at that.
She began to forget much like she was forgotten. She couldn’t remember where she was most of the time, what was around her, or what she looked like. Maybe that was a good thing. She grew tired of it all, of the dust, and the darkness, and the smallness of it all. So, she shed a layer of skin, crawling out of what she used to be, pink and raw.
She stepped into her artificially lit room, looked to her left and caught her reflection in the mirror. She was rediscovering herself. Her hand met its reflection in a gentle embrace and her eyes looked deep into themselves and her smile moved across her face like a comforting caress. She needed to know it; she needed to know her body to take ownership of it. She tried to wipe her mind blank; she tried not to label her body and all the various parts of it. It was hers regardless of beauty or size. It belonged to her, and she belonged to it. They needed each other, even if they forgot that sometimes.
© Zeinab Hassan Fawaz and Broken Dolls, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.