The first time I met her was when I was 9 years old. I had just left the rooftop and was on my way down the apartment building’s staircase. That was when I saw her. A beautiful, tantalizing woman. She was a prepossessing sight. I stopped in my tracks and followed her with my eyes, filled with childish curiosity. She didn’t seem to notice how enchanted I was by her presence and didn’t spare me a single glance. I watched as she went up the stairs, opened the door to the roof, and left it to slam behind her. I was like a deer in the headlights. There are no words in any language, let alone a 9 year old’s vocabulary, that can describe her grace. A few moments later, I regained my wits and made my way back home.
The second time I saw her was when I was 12, on my way back home from a birthday party. It was late at night as my parents had stopped by a shop that I had always dreaded. That doesn’t matter. Neither did that party. What an awful memory. I regret ever going. I saw her; she looked the same as she did that night on the staircase. She was going in the opposite direction, parallel to our car. It felt like everything was moving so much slower than it had been a few moments prior. The sole sight of her seemed to drown out the bickering. I wanted to wave at her, or do anything; I wanted to grab her attention. Maybe thank her. Yet, I didn’t.
The third time I met her was when I was 15, in my school’s unisex bathroom. I came out of the toilet stall, eyes still red and swollen. She was washing her hands as elegantly as one could, looking as beautiful as ever. She smiled at me through her reflection in the mirror. At least I think she did. That was the first time she had ever acknowledged me. Even though I could barely see her through my puffy eyes, I still treasure whatever I could make out of that stunning visual. I remember thinking, “Her kid must feel so lucky.”
The fourth time I saw her was in… well, everything. I saw her in tile cracks, wood grain, smudges on the mirror, and the dark spots on a banana. When I was 18, I had a dream she came knocking on my window and I let her in. She looked the same as she always did. We didn’t talk; we just stared at each other as she smiled at me. Her smile was blurry, but it was a comforting view. When it felt like enough time had passed, I told her how beautiful she was and thanked her for being there for me when no one else was. I told her she is free to leave, and she did. I woke up.
For some reason, I expected to see her again when I hit 21. But I never did. It was awfully quiet. I don’t remember much from that period in my life. Time passed on and I had left my family’s apartment by the time I was 24. That was when I moved in with her. I never really saw her, but I would always hear her moving around. Often she’d be in the kitchen cooking, or she would be vacuuming the carpet. She would break things, or push stuff around. She caused quite a racket sometimes, but would always stop when I asked her to. I would feel her crawl into bed with me at night when she thought I was asleep. She would play with my hair when I got stressed. She would have the bath ready for me when I got back home from work. She was always there.
When I turned 33, I met her again. I missed her beauty, her everlasting beauty. She had maintained that exact visage I always yearned for. I missed her so much. That night, we had sex. The first touch was electrifying and I felt warmth I could never comprehend existing beforehand. Warmth and comfort. Relief. I felt weightless, floating. She was so soft, exactly how I imaged she would be. Too soft. I thought she would dissipate at any moment. We must have gone for several hours because I passed out. She was a passionate lover. The next time I woke up, I was in the hospital. I haven’t seen her since.
I am now 42 and yesterday was the first time I had been able to wear short sleeves without thinking of her. I miss her and I think fondly of her, but my cravings for her have subsided. I was an unhappy child and I have grown into an unhappy adult. But I think she would be disappointed to see me again.