Short Story : Distortions

I was convinced my right eye ball seemed larger than my left one.

‘Pin your hair down, it looks better that way,’ my mother suggests as she eyes my dress top to bottom. I feel the skin around my right eye stretch and sting. My hand reflexively touches my taut skin. I turn to look at myself in the mirror and behold, my eye truly is bigger than before! Aghast, I call out to my mother, ‘Mom! My eye! It’s increasing in size and it hurts!’ I uncover my eye and she peers at my face. She tilts her head to get a better look.

‘What nonsense is this, child! Go change, the car is going to be here any minute.’

I fumble in my closet and try to ignore the throbbing headache that seems to have begun due to my swollen eye.

I put on a pastel dress and she nods approvingly but continues to pay no attention to my distress signals. My father passes by me, he stops and turns around to inspect how I appear.

He chews on sunflower seeds slowly and makes an observation, ‘God, the girls I see at the supermarket are sleek and thin. But you can’t stop engorging pizzas, can you?’

I feel my face flush but I roll my eyes and walk back into my room. I feel my watch tighten around my wrist. I glance down to loosen it but my left forearm is grossly swollen and red.

‘Mom!’ I scream and run over to her. ‘Mom, I think something bit me!’ I continue to yell and shove my arm under her nose for better inspection.

‘Enough, child. I don’t have time for this. Grab your wallet, our car is here!’ My mother retorts.

With an organ bulging and a tender limb, I wobble into the car. The car ride is silent except for the occasional directions my father offers the driver. We reach a wedding hall and step out. There’s a crowd of people surrounding us and we pass warm greetings. Once inside, my mother nudges me from the back, ‘Please, can you smile and be politer? Look at how genial the girls here are!’ I glance around anxiously and spot a few women I recognise, I walk toward them with my mother beside me. As soon as I open my mouth to smile, I feel blood trickle down my throat. My tongue sweeps the backside of my upper teeth and I feel warm blood ooze between them.

Are my gums bleeding? Gosh, I’ve been brushing twice a day, haven’t I?

I feel nauseated but feel obliged to swallow the blood. I keep my mouth close and nod politely as people pass by. My mother sighs exhaustingly but says nothing.

A few agonisingly long hours pass, and we find ourselves exiting the wedding hall, bidding adieu to the other guests.

As we enter our home, my mother tells me I should’ve worn a higher inched heel. I reply that she could’ve told me this sooner and telling me this right now serves no purpose. The searing eye pain stops. I turn to catch my reflection in a hall way mirror and notice many more distortions which are invisible to my mother.

I look at a contorted and scary reflection. For every unnecessary comment I hear and acknowledge, a different body part produces a deformity of sorts, I look like a cruelly drawn portrait of a woman, but at least my eye hurts less now. I just have to now spend a few hours or days undoing the damage my body and brain has endured.