Sometimes I Tell Stories

Rhonda knew her name was not beautiful and wondered what her mother had been thinking, and if it meant she hated her – as Rhonda sincerely suspected. She began to make a list of all the things that one should never do to children. At the top of the list: Do not pick an ugly name.

 

 

A name stays with people and defines them. She did not want to be the “raw” open sound that began her name or the stupid, awful, idiotic “n’duh” that finished her off. She wanted to be a beauty, like a Michelle or Jessica.

 

 

Looking in the mirror she saw her potential in pronounced cheek bones, clear eyes, round lips. She thought: I look just like a model. But then she also saw, and could not deny, the shadows that lined her features. Shame, doubt and grief - all there painfully marked.

 

 

Others only noticed that she never smiled and assumed her to be dull and unintelligent. Rhonda herself, afraid that people could read her just as easily as she read them, always tried to keep a straight face. Let no emotion, good or bad seep out. She tucked her secrets behind her eyes, though it only made them evermore clear and more pleading.

 

 

Later in life she would review her childhood portraits and feel sad looking into those eyes. It would make her shudder as she sometimes did at the zoo in a moment of locking gazes with a caged wild animal. She would remember the cruelty of captivity.

 

 

Do all secrets hide? Many long to be heard. Oh, and dear reader if you love a fine tale, you should know: The eyes tell stories that may stir the soul.