Identity

She sometimes forgot who she was. She was born the same as those around her; a
name given and a place born. She had little recollection of her parents. They had died so long
ago she could barely remember her sadness at their passing. She smiles, immersing her mind in
the liquid pensieve containing the few strands of the memories of her father. She caught
glimpses of his hands running through his jet-black hair, his piercing green eyes, and his warm
laughs. Those eyes were not at all timid his gaze could make even the mightiest man falter,
but when he looked at her she could not see what others saw. He gave her kindness and
compassion; she felt safe in the sea of green. Those eyes were for her and her alone and with
those eyes, there was nothing he could not see. She remembered his deep laugh warming her
frigid body while he toweled her dry one winter. He looked at her, running his hand through his
hair as he often did and laughed another warm laugh before resting his hands on her shoulders
and saying You really are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
She withdrew herself from the memories of her father and turned her attention back to
her initial thought. Who was she really? How did she get to where she was now? After the
death of her parents, she remembered the slow years of living with her aunt, a pleasant yet
unloving person. She remembered going to school, desperate to play the part of the invisible
student who sat at the back of the class. But despite her best efforts, she remained visible for
all to see. Only once in her life has she ever cursed her beauty. She did not speak nor did she try
for friends, yet people seemed to be inexplicably drawn to her. Girls were mystified at her
flawless skin and symmetrical features. They wanted to talk to her, laugh with her, but she
knew that above all, most of them just wanted to be her. She could see it in their eyes; she
could always see it in their eyes. Boys were the worst, yet she found herself less bothered by
them. While she understood the complexities within the female eye, the male subconscious
was much more manifest. She could see no treachery, no jealousy, no ill-will; all she ever saw
was lust. She searched the eyes of every boy, every man she ever met for even a shadow of a
man like her father. She never found him and it seemed like those few memories she
desperately held on to were all she would ever have.
She knew the world revolved around money she was beautiful, but she was not nave.
Without the support of a family, her hopes for a higher education were extinguished. She
quickly learned she had to use her God given gift to her advantage. Her beauty alone could not
make up for her ignorance of the acting world. She practiced and practiced, picking up small
roles community theater; slowly learning from the long since retired veterans looking to pass
the time.
One elderly gentleman always remained in her mind; he was a stage director many
years prior, putting on numerous plays on Broadway. His wispy silver hair coupled with his navy
blue eyes sharply contrasted with the features of her father, yet his presence instilled a
calmness she grew to appreciate. She was often discouraged seeing the women around her,
groomed with the luxuries money could buy, but he gave her strength to continue. Her father
could never be replaced, she knew that. This man owed her nothing in life, but his teachings
temporarily filled the void left behind. For that, she loved him.
The heavy rains pounding outside the door wrenched her from the depths of her mind
back into an equally depressing reality. She got up out of her chair and slowly made her way to
the closet. She opened the door and flipped the switch. An old incandescent bulb bathed the
small, musty room in a brilliant orange glow. On both sides of the center aisle, were long racks
covered with clothing of all kinds. She was a queen, she was mother, she was a peasant. She
ran her hands through her identities, both past and present, shaking loose the thin layer of dust
formed upon them.
She has been playing roles for a very long time. It has been 30 years since her fathers
death. Much of her beauty has faded, an occurrence coming naturally with age. People have
narrow minds. They care only about the present. They do not understand her to be human, to
have feelings and thoughts. She is merely an instrument of her beauty, used until it can be used
no more. So, she left.
She hears the soft ringing of the chimes set above the door and the snarl of the wind
struggling to penetrate her abode. Someone had come inside. She closes the door to her closet
and pauses for a minute to compose herself. She put on her smile, another identity she wore,
not because of her happiness, but because of necessity. She made her way to the entrance of
the studio and waited. He had not seen her just yet. He was knelt on the ground, struggling to
remove the jacket of the small girl beside him. She could not see his eyes, but she could see the
love he had for this girl through the way he touched her. He was so gentle with her, so eager to
know that the elements had not harmed his little girl. She could see his love for her was so
great it was as if he was giving her the love meant for two. Her chest began to ache.
A minute passes and he finally looks up. His eyes meet hers and she instantly knows. His
eyes were a deep green; courageous eyes, but humble eyes. Eyes that have seen heartbreak
and tragedy, but also love and compassion. Eyes of a man she could love. He looks at all her
beauty radiating outwards, warming the areas of his body cold since the birth of his daughter.
He sees through the faade of her exterior and into her soul, so full of love yet marred with
scars of loss.
Daddy, I want a princess for my birthday party, the girl whispers.
If that is what you want, my love, you shall have it says he.
She looks at the father. Their eyes meet and together they dance. Not the waltz nor the tango,
but the dance of understanding; the dance for her and only her. Who am I? she asks.
He laughs deeply running his hands quickly through his short, black hair. You are the
most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
For the first time, in a long time, her smile was a manifest of true happiness.

























She paced the length of her studio, cursing herself for dust she left lying around. She
walked to the corner and picked up the dust brush and began systematically wiping down the
thin layer of fallen skin covering her desk. She continued until the entire room was spotless.