That Dark and Winding Road

Sheryl walks into the room, brilliant smile, shaking hands and making small talk as she rounds the room like the lovely hostess she has always been. She pauses at the ornately gold adorned mirror to check her hair. It’s perfect, so she takes this opportunity to look lovingly at herself. She owns the room and she knows it.

She, however, doesn’t fool me. Sheryl may have the walk, glistening hair and Hollywood pearly whites, but she doesn’t look me in the eye. She never does. I wonder what she would see if she ever took that chance. What weakness would her eyes expose? Is it the truth that will break her perfect image?

You can learn a lot from how people look at me. Matt does the same thing every time he passes. He puffs up his chest—I can see the pep talk he’s giving himself. His hand goes back to smooth his hair as he cocks his chin, pretending to be James Dean. Matt’s routine bodes well for him as he presents himself together and confident, but maybe it would be okay if he didn’t give that pep talk—it might just help William.

William doesn’t look at me at all. He rushes past, head turned so he doesn’t have to. I see him standing here and there. He may not be a wallflower, but he’ll never take a chance that isn’t necessary. That new red head over there is everything William thinks he needs. She’s the total package as far as he can tell from where he’s standing, by the fern, talking to Mary. He strains his ears, trying to listen to the red head talk to Matt, so much that he isn’t listening to Mary anymore. He watches the shimmering red hair sway as she tilts her head, apparently disagreeing with Matt. William snickers. She’s already better than half the women here if she can see Matt for bastard that he is. William adjusts his shirt collar, gaze falling on the fern. “If I could only be Matt. Learn the secret that makes him so damn confident. Then I could be happy. I wouldn’t need that red head. I could have anyone…”

Great, now a plant is more interesting than I am. I’m used to men not paying attention to me because of beautiful women, but when a plant is more captivating… Mary thought as she crossed to the other side of the room, not caring about William’s feelings, when and if he noticed her absence. She looks into the beautiful mirror, tracing her nose with a long finger. I notice the change even if no one else in the room will. I could always see the lust in Mary’s eyes when she gazed at others. She gave herself a present, much like Matt’s pep talk. She wiped out her savings to do it, but patting her nose with a smile, she’ll never question the pain or money. Mary moves away, satisfied with her choice, looking to find acceptance in the room.

Lilly stands in the center of the room, people on either side, talking, laughing, sharing that beautiful smile everyone loves. Lilly isn’t like any of the other people here. When she passes me, she looks at me, really looks at me—and herself. Her eyes walk up and down her face, over her hair, she adjusts her necklace, but it’s her eyes. She looks long into her eyes.

Someone said long ago the eyes are the window to the soul, and that may be why everyone else avoids their eyes when looking at me. They are either afraid of what they see or what is not there. Lilly is quite the opposite. She’ll stand in front of me, looking at nothing but her eyes. They are just as beautiful as the smile everyone raves about, but the Lilly directly in front of me is not the Lilly socializing around the room. Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, haunt me. They are so broken. I don’t understand how no one else can see how sad Lilly is.

She knows it. I can see it. Lilly travels into her soul, a deep and winding road. I do not know what she’s searching for, but she so often comes back to me to look. Some of the paths are darker than others, and some do indeed lead her to the Lilly everyone sees. ...