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78 stories/poetry

distance Barbara Bridger

She was losing her distance; things were getting too close. She tried to tell him, but it made no sense when she said, I just can’t seem to get far enough away. For what? He asked. To see. She replied. See what? Myself.

It made no sense, but he put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a present. For your birthday. How nice.

It was. Small, discreet, a smooth oval of thick, black plastic. Thick and warm, it sat in her hand like a stone you might keep from the beach. And when she slipped a nail into the only tiny crevice, it flipped open like one of those bivalve shells. It fell into two identical thin wings. You can put it in your bag.

So she closed it up and slipped it into her pocket. Left it there for a second, no more, before her hand dipped back, eager to touch. It was so warm to the touch. You can look at yourself whenever you want to.

Did she want to? She wasn’t sure, but he was waiting, so she palmed her present, brought it back out into the light, opened the silver wings and angled them to reflect the view from the window – the clouds, the dipping trees. She leaned forwards for a better look and that’s when it happened – again – too close – how she blocked out the sky! She was like a female Gulliver with her black nostrils and her double chin. Shut it.

feminist review 78 2004 c 2004 Feminist Review. 0141-7789/04 $30 www.feminist-review.com (181–186)

181

Shut it quick! She did and he looked surprised, but theny well, there was so much else to think about, to do. He had arranged it so well, her birthday. First the present and theny How do you want it?

The peroxided boy picked up a hank of hair and dropped it carelessly so that it fell across her eye. She didn’t reply so he sighed, slid a finger under another lock and began to raise it up. How much off?

The hair reached maximum height and flicked away, poking her in the other eye. But she didn’t flinch. She was too busy holding off her reflection. She was trying desperately to keep it at a distance and didn’t notice his stylish, languorous contempt. The boy took hold of himself with an exaggerated shake and started to brush her hair vigorously, charging it with electricity so that it stood on end and crackled. She was appalled, broke out in a sweat. Electricity could be the final straw. Electricity might make a force field of the precious space between her andyhe stopped brushing suddenly and pushed her hair up from underneath. I think we need to make some fullness round the chin, more flattering, more feminine.

He tried to catch her eye in the mirror, smiled. You’ve got good eyes; shall we highlight them with a fringe?

But she was transfixed with horror. Her chin, her eyes were getting dangerously close, while he? He was very faint; she could hardly hear or see. He was miles back across the room, zooming into the distance, joining the other clients who were gazing into mirrors on the opposite side of the room. She could see the backs of their heads and, Oh thank goodness!

caught sight of her own