Old. This is what she sees when she looks in the mirror. One needle prick to the forehead. Stress. This is why she never looks in the mirror. Second needle prick to the forehead. Many children in a few quick years. Third needle prick to the forehead. A husband who sees her but never looks at her. First needle prick to the right eye. A town full of college students. First needle prick to the left eye. The cover of Vogue. Second needle prick to the right eye. A party invitation with the word “reunion” embossed in gold. Second needle prick to the left eye. Thirty-seven years. Fifty units. Stretching, pulling, tightening and erasing of time.
As she tries to constrict and confine time, youth squirms in the table beside her.
Young but limited. One needle prick to his left calf. Ran like gazelle ahead of the pack. Now he limps like a wounded animal, not fully aware of his injury. Second needle prick to his left calf. A once pre-school switch hitter who is now too weak to hold a baseball bat. First injection to his left arm. A once monkey bar virtuoso who is now regulated to the slides and swings. Second injection to his left arm. Five-years-old. Twenty units. Injecting and projecting towards the childhood he should have.
