Mi Nombre

That name
In your voice suddenly recalls
hot tears, warmth, strength, touch, sadness, laughter and yes even the alluded magic I had
purposefully forgotten.

And the time between who I was, who I am, who I will be – merges.
For the gap of an hour and twenty-three minutes.
And I wonder what happened…

His-story: I was born. I and my mirror image. We danced and I put him away. The rainbows dazzled my eyes and I thought he’d stay away for good. But everytime I should have felt rainbows there he was instead. And when I looked in the mirror I kept waiting for him to reappear. So now he has reared his head again, and it’s ugly to remember that you’ve never met him. But you’ve known him all along. I knew somewhere you’d come into the story.

Her-story: I was born. I and my mirror image. We danced and she put me away. I watched the colors entice her and felt her rejection. But I knew that the unintentional invitation would always come. She’d unlock the door; being surprised and relived to find me. Standing, waiting, knowing. Too many tears. Knowing the I was really i was Thou. And the fact that you knew me without any name made it that much easier, that much more difficult.

We talk. Or rather I talk. And –ie tells me to shut up. I see the other side of the mirror, and learn how much I’ve forgotten myself. I wanted adolescence so badly I forgot adulthood. And when we talk I remember why I wanted adulthood. You have always been dealt a lower hand then you deserve. But I cannot tell you that now. I did, I would have once but I lost part of you then, and I don’t want to loose the rest of you now.

I am proud of you. I knew then that I’d be proud of you regardless. But that’s not an empty pride. It’s the pride of knowing, seeing, believing, loving. I feel like a mother (an odd thing to say from me). The older sibling I never was. I hurt that you accept your cards so often, when they aren’t worth your time. But that’s also why I love you, because you see in totality and love in totality. You always did that. (You even did that to me!) And I know it’s useless to tell you otherwise. Besides who am I to speak? It’s never easy to be dealt a new hand.

We are not so different you and I. We love differently perhaps, but not fundamentally. We hurt, run in opposite circles as we’re told. But when I hear you and when I speak I know it’s all a myth. But you’ve known that all along; that’s why you were the first to speak.

I hear the change in your voice, and your eyes are different too. They’re older, experienced direct with less naïveté. Well naïveté isn’t the right word. You’ve never been naïve. On the contrary, you’ve grown up faster then most people I know. In that way you always reminded me of sister. Perhaps it has something to do with being the oldest. I like the change. Expected it to be there, would have been disappointed frankly if it wasn’t there. And if you ask my family, I’ve never been big on change. It means you’ll surprise me, as you always have. And I love to be surprised by you.

I didn’t tell you about my lost Y. I stalled like when I wanted to tell you about rainbows. Am I ashamed? When I’m with you I remember how close we both were to our mothers. And when I return home it’s painful to see the gap between she and I. And I can’t bring myself to tell you about that. I feel like a failure, of –ie. Perhaps that’s all that Jean is; leaving out the best parts of a former self. A childish reinvention of a beloved woman, my mother’s mother.

But these things you do not need to know, so I do not tell you them now. But I instead I talk too much, about past loves and hurts women with whom I danced ungracefully. Trying post-high school divas everyone knew was wrong for me. The Dianas who love, but love the mirror more. And in the process I began to love the mirror too. You say you’re in and out with a man who love’s the mirror, and I wonder if that’s the way of things. We think that it’s all we’ll ever see and so learn to love what’s in front of us even while we know it hurts, and then it becomes familiar. Therein the danger lies.

I remember who I was and in that space who I wanted to become. And when I’m with you I still want to become that being. With the others it’s always been a Hollywood image of “perfection.” But all you want is a friend. A good, funny, kind, understanding, honest, loyal friend. No political, religious or social agenda. Just a friend. You turn off the floodlights, remove the make up, take away the script and remind me it’s not a performance. I’m not the author. I’m just Jean(ie).