Posted by: Mermaid | June 5, 2006

Her Eyes

She wakes up with a startle. “Have I over-slept?” she thinks while stretching her hand to the alarm clock next to her bed. “I have over-slept” she says it with a sad tone knowing that she has missed preparing breakfast for her husband and seeing him off to work. Why didn’t he wake her up? Well, he’d never do that. In fact, every morning, whenever she wakes up he tries to put her back to sleep but in vain. Oh, how could she miss his morning kiss? “I’ll ask him to make it up for me when he gets back from work. A double kiss on his most endearing nose” she sighed with a satisfied smile. She opened the fridge and stood there for a few moments enjoying the cold breeze it sent. “Cream? Yes! Jam? Yes! Toast? Yes!” She heard herself saying with a triumphant tone. She spread a thin layer of cream on the toast adding half spoon of blueberry jam. “Ah, heavenly!” she said while enjoying her favorite breakfast on the kitchen table. “Now,” she uttered, “time to burn all those calories.” She kept working out for thirty minutes until she got breathless and decided to stop to take a quick shower. The long, loose locks of wet hair kept her fresh in this hot weather. “How much I hate summer!” she says it every morning in the summer. She felt her way to that cozy corner in their house where she grabbed a big book and started reading with her hands lying comfortably on it. “He is going to love this fruit salad,” she thinks while cutting a few bananas into slim slices in her wide kitchen. She suddenly turns around and opens her arms saying, “You are here. So early?” “Why can’t I ever surprise you?” He complains with a big smile on his face. “Well, you know I have sharp ears” She smiles when he kisses her ears which tickles her. “Stop!” she softly hits him on his chest with a childish fist. “I missed you, my Pearl” he says it with a sincere, warm voice. “I love you when you call me that” she puts her arms around his neck. He looks into her wide brown eyes whispering, “You are my pearl that I had to look for in the deepest seas and found after the greatest efforts”. She traces the lines of his jaws with her fingertips saying, “I am glad and grateful you found me”. He holds her tight pulling her closer and allowing her to bury her face into this secure area between his neck and shoulder where she can safely lay her chin, lips and all her dreams. She closes her eyes enjoying the feeling of the back of his strong neck beneath her slim fingers and the shiver she feels along her spine. He pulls her a few inches away from him to be able to look at her affectionate, content face. “I love you” he whispers it just before his lips peacefully rest between her most precious blind eyes.


Responses

  1. When Doves Cry

    I used to think of words that suit my criticism on Mayada’s work all the time, day and night; till they are shaped into something worthy. But on an other reading (do not recall how many times) of “Her Eyes”, “The Light”, and “The Dreaming Tree” for example I’ve been reminded of two of my favourites, “The Green Mile” by Stephen King and Rudyard Kipling’s “The Man Who Would Be King”. The resemblance of these works either by Mayada or the others exists in the satiric way of looking at life and death. So, walking the green mile to death looks like paying one’s life as a price for pursuing glory and also looks like Mayada’s outer happy face while seeing only darkness in her safe shell.

    In “her Eyes”, the imaginary character is leading a happy life with her husband; life that is illustrated by mere simple words of passion and longing till the very end of the piece where we are startled by the words ( … blind eyes) leaving us to think .. did she led a blind life neglecting her husband’s bad sides for their life to go on together? Or was she unable at all to discover them until she was deeply in love with no way to escape that overwhelming affection? Was she happy as she described her life, knowing that blindness of the mind was a trivial price for the assumed happiness? And how long can the schizophrenic ego endure?

    On another hand, “The Light” and “The Dreaming Tree” are presenting us a profound point of view of a female’s simple needs which are, in this case, limited to love and wormth. Along with her dreams she tries to avoid loneliness, the blood and tears that color her existence and the painful symbol of a living passion that once called love. I can see Mayada glorified with a crown of thorns, I can see her faithfully walking through the shadows of the valley of death and I can see her as a white naked virgin in a black veiled sinful society. I’m not mocking at all, I’m bleeding myself out for a virgin soul who has been raped morally out of her real self.

    A woman’s heart is something that I can not fully define. Strange enough, it creates an illusionary fence around her secrets even though they are eating her up inside out. She copes with them, lives under their shadows and when another light comes she prohibits it from getting nearer convincing herself that she has enough light inside. Hasn’t she known that a rose is still a rose and a thorn will never be but a thorn?

    It seems that we are still learning how to live while hiring death to be our teacher.

    Mayada, I’m praying for your virgin soul to survive.


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