Perfection has a Scent

It is a crisp fall day. My ears pick up all the sounds of my neighborhood, alive and merry with the renewed, motivated bustle of people getting in their fall walks. Happy people chatting outside my window. People, who deep down know, like myself, that Winter is reposing in the grass just waiting patiently to slowly drink away the sunlight, like a favorite martini after a stressful day. Cold and uncaring, he will savor each minute surreptitiously taken, blissfully ignorant of the damaging effect it may have on others. Still and ever watchful, he conspicuously waits to fill up his starving, empty belly by consuming all the colors. Trees, although mournful, will shed all their splendid finery as a sacrifice to the White One. Winter always brings about my depression.

I shut the window. I want no part of those hopeful souls, I know Fall will be quick and fleeting, like childhood. I also know that tomorrow will wear a different outfit than today or the imminent future. She will don a tight dress of  scorching heat, accessorized with oppressive air that just dares you to attempt a hairstyle that will not end up in a tangle of damp curls at the base of your neck. Cruelly she will mock you, knowing that the hair you do manage to get into two thick, black hair elastics (accompanied by 37 bobby pins) will instantly frizz to the point of comical. Nothing short of  a small miracle, will prevent what you do manage to tame, from grossly resembling a cotton candy factory that unexpectedly exploded within 3 short minutes of being exposed to her humidity. Unlike Winter’s unwitting selfishness, Summer thrives on her power to fell even the burliest of men with her hot temperament. She will never allow you to be as magnificent as she.

It is not the seasons that I envy, however. They are not what I perceive as quintessential, for each has their own unique faults. No.. I yearn for something much more tangible.

I keep my face a good distance from the glass, my breathing slightly irregular as my legs start to cramp from sitting in a hunched position. An almost squat, if you can imagine, if it wasn’t for my thighs serving as a rest stop for the rest of my body. I am unwavering, however. Strange that the first thing I notice is the smell of their perfection. Silly to think that perfection has an odor at all.. but it does. The scent is warm, sweetly cloying and toys with my emotions. I know with absolute certainty this particular smell, which I covet secretly, would undoubtedly make me happy, even if it is momentary. Similar to the smell of the ocean waves and sand which remind me of a carefree adolescence or how the clean cotton smell can bring back the euphoria of childhood sleepovers, burrowed under the covers, stifling giggles with your friends, while your parents assume you are asleep. This smell wipes away the shame and ever-present fact, for the briefest of seconds, that I am a heavy girl, average, homely in comparison. I simply should not be eagerly waiting for them, for in the end.. It will only cause me suffering because they encompass the impossible state of flawlessness, and while they go about their business completely unaware of the feeling of inadequacy being evoked, the raw truth that I am lesser is a constant weight on the wings of  my own happiness.

I go unheeded. Alone in my thoughts as I aimlessly run a hand through the mop on my head. Dishevelled, a hot mess, hiding within my yoga pants and oversized sweatshirt that screams, don’t see me! Yet there they remain. Perfect. An even group, the golden hues mixing perfectly with the rich brown tones. They are all relatively the same size, none being too small or uncharacteristically large. They all stay within their designated spots, managing to only occupy the space which was given each with unspoken rules. Although, if you pay close enough attention, sometimes you will catch two of them connecting. Melding together with such an air of rightness that you simply cannot condemn them for breaching the mold. Utter conformity could essentially drive one mad!

I know that the time is coming, I can hear the bells going off in my head.. A few more moments and I will be nearer to them, I tentatively reach out but they are unreachable. My pale skin versus their sun-kissed golden color. Sweat beads on my forehead and I ignore the sensation as it trickles down my face. It has gotten increasingly warm. They are getting closer, so close in fact, I can almost touch them.

Internally I fight myself, I know that being a part of this will not truly bring me peace. I think different from others. I am not as controlled as many of my peers are. I do as I wish, regardless of how I look… Oh but if I would’ve been created different!! If I was the ideal, would I still feel as I do? Inadequate yet still wanting them? Or confident that it was going to be okay without them? I could still potentially be accepted with only one, maybe two and I wouldn’t give these thoughts another minute of my time! I am not the ideal, however, so I must accept that this is my lot in life, yet I still feel ashamed and guilty for craving such things.

After what feels like an eternity, the moment is upon me. I must decide. Do I refuse to open the door? Let them remain unwelcomed until they grow old and withered? Then will I be satisfied? The buzzer  goes off, an annoyingly unrelenting sound that makes me cringe yet I cannot help feeling elated.  The door is opened. There they are, just as wonderful as I knew they would be. They are flawless. On fleek, as my daughter would say. Hot and inviting. Everything up until this moment, no longer matters for I have no more reserves. This is what longing is all about. They belong to me and I to them. I feel complete.

Please tell me that I am not the only one that feels this way about homemade cookies in the fall?!? I couldn’t bear it if I was alone in these deep throes of warm desire! Plus, there is nothing better than a hot, fresh out of the oven, chocolate chip cookie. No matter what anyone says!

Also, this is just a fun story. I don’t have as many issues as it would appear. So please, don’t get my therapist involved.. She has enough on her plate!

Happy Autumn!

Yours With a Cold Glass of Milk,

CR