“It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being.” John Joseph Powell
The tender notes of a piano seemed to slip shyly through the open windows of the cottage and out into the small glade. It was what Deanna's Irish grandmother would have called a fine, soft day. A day when the gray clouds remained high in the sky as they misted the ground below with gentle rain. The weather didn't depress her as it would have some. She enjoyed such days, especially when she was working on a love song.
She paused occasionally to make a note on the sheet of music before her, adjusting and perfecting the way her music fit with the lyricist's words. As always, his words were hauntingly beautiful poetry that gave birth to the soul her piano seemed to breathe life into. Deanna still marveled at the magic they created together. Separately, their talents were well respected within their individual spheres. But, together they seemed to become a single, emotive entity. Their music bound them, even though they had never formally met face to face. Something she would not allow.
The song ended on a quiet note and after a moment she straightened, allowing her scarred hands, evidence of the house fire that had taken her family when she was a young woman, to fall to her lap as the echoes of the music resonated through her mind. Along with them, she imagined she could hear him singing the song just to her, here in her own sanctuary where the most intimate parts of her soul were on display through a collection of art and books, and beautiful colors and comfortable furnishings.
As she collected the sheets of music together and slid them into a special folder, her cell phone rang from the bench beside her. The distinctive Flight of the Valkyries announced that her agent was on the line and she grinned as she reached up to her ear to click the Bluetooth. Her choice in his ringtone was unfailingly apropos.
“Toby!” she answered. “Yes, I just finished it.”
“You didn't let me say hello,” he complained mildly. “And how do you know what I was calling about, anyway?”
“Because it's what you've called about six times this week already. You can tell Max that I'll get the music to you the day after tomorrow by overnight express. It's too late to send it tonight.”
“He'll be glad to hear it. You've brought it right down to the wire on this one.”
“I know, but it had to be perfect. The song is too important not to be.”
“As if you would ever release anything less than perfect.”
She shrugged as she admitted, “True.”
There was a long pause as Deanna closed the lid over the keyboard and stood up. Leaving the phone behind, she took the folder in one hand and her water bottle in the other, and left the room to make her way across the living room to the kitchen. It was nearly dinner time, she was hungry, and she had no idea what she was going to fix.
“Deanna, love, Max is asking again to meet you. Don't you think it's time to?”
“No.”
“But, darling, you two have worked together for nearly five years now. Don't you think...?”
“No, Toby. If Max wants to talk to me it will have to be by phone or zoom, as always.”
“Don't you think you're being unreasonable?”
“Maybe, but the answer is still the same. No.”
Toby sighed.
“Deanna, you've not seen your face in years. How many times do I have to assure you that the scars aren't that bad anymore?”
“I don't want to hear it.”
Giving up, his tone became brusk.
“Okay, then. When would be a good time for you to zoom?”
~
Three days later, Deanna sat in front of her laptop, signed in and waiting for the meeting to start. She was dressed comfortably in pine green sweats and matching socks, with a softly colored scarf covering all of her head, leaving only her eyes visible. The slight drooping of one in no way lessened their vivid blue beauty.
She nervously drummed the eraser end of a pencil on the desk and glanced again at the clock in the corner of the screen. He was ten minutes late. Where was he? No matter how much she looked forward to these meetings, she always experienced butterflies and dry mouth as the time neared. Not even Toby knew how she truly felt about Max. Outwardly she was always pleasant, if a little cool, toward him. But inside, well hidden by years of practice, she became once again the shy, plump, uncoordinated teenage girl with braces on her teeth. The truth was, she loved him with all the passion evidenced only through her music. She'd been in love with him almost from their first collaboration nearly five years ago. While most women might describe him as merely good looking, in Deanna's eyes he was almost perfect. Only a crooked nose from a long ago boyhood fight and a small scar that bisected one dark eyebrow marred his perfection. Added to that, he was warm and engaging, supportive and honest with her when it came to the music they created. He was her ideal professional partner. She only wished they could be much more. Behind the scarf, her lips twisted bitterly. But that was an impossible dream. If he were to ever see what she truly looked like, she was certain he'd want nothing further to do with her. Just like Derek had after the accident. And she would move heaven and earth not to see that particular look in any man's eyes ever again.
Glancing again at the clock, she muttered impatiently even as concern filled her. It was so unlike Max to keep her waiting like this. What was taking him so long?
She started as Windsor chimes abruptly alerted her to someone at the door. Frowning, she stood and made her way out of the office and through the living room. There she adjusted the scarf to make sure her face was well-covered, took a deep breath, opened the door, and nearly fainted with shock.
“Hello, Deanna.”
Max's smile was warm and faintly apologetic, his dark gaze almost tender as he took in her appearance.
“M-Max! What are you doing here?”
“I would say that I just happened to be in the area, but we both know that isn't true .” He paused. “May I come in?”
On some level she was certain she should be furious with him for breaking her taboo about personal meetings, but on a stronger one she was aware only of the joy that filled her at finding him here where she could catch a whiff of his spicy masculine cologne and, she was certain, feel the heat of his body.
“Deanna?”
The scarred eyebrow went up as he gently brought her back to the moment.
“Oh! Yes!” She stepped back and pulled the door open wider. “I'm sorry. Please, come in.”
As he entered, she did, indeed, feel the warmth of his body as he passed and she trembled with the need to reach out and touch him. Just to see if he was as toned and muscular all over as his arms were beneath the ivory-colored Irish sweater he wore. Glancing down before pushing the door quietly shut, she couldn't help but notice how well he filled out his Levis. In her experience, not many men outside of a rodeo knew how to wear jeans anymore.
She turned back and found he'd paused in the middle of the living room where he was looking around him in curiosity.
“Have a seat anywhere,” she invited, automatically slipping into hostess mode, “Would you like something to drink? I have soda, lemonade, and bottled water.”
After taking a seat on the sofa, he smiled up at her and shook his head.
“No thanks. I'm fine.”
Wishing that, just this once, she could stand the taste of a shot of whiskey to settle her, she sat on the edge of the matching love seat and waited with her eyes averted and her tongue hopelessly tied. Max took a moment to simply look at her. If she had been looking back, she would easily have read the ardent expression in his dark eyes as he made no effort to hide it. Finally, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his thighs, while his chin rested atop his fisted hands.
“Deanna,” he murmured, “look at me.”
He saw her eyes flicker in his general direction before once again averting away.
“You have a right to be angry with me,” he conceded quietly, “I should probably have honored your wishes as I always have. But I've waited for nearly five years for you to relax enough with me to remove your scarf.”
Her nervous swallowing told him all he needed to know. Rising to his feet, he reached for the hem of his sweater.
“I want to show you something.”
She looked up just as he pulled the sweater over his head and turned his back to her. From his neck down until they disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans, there wasn't a place that wasn't covered with scars and she gasped in shock. She recognized burn scars when she saw them, for she bore them on her face and hands. But his were much, much worse.
“Max?”
Her whisper seemed loud in the silence of the room. Forgetting herself, she rose to her feet and crossed the space between them and gently touched the marred skin as if to soothe the pain he must have suffered.
“Oh, Max, what happened to you?”
Turning to face her once again, he slid the sweater back on.
“We were in Afghanistan, only a week from returning home, when our Humvee took a direct hit from an RPG. By the time I got out, I was on fire all the way down to my hips. I don't remember much after I got out. Then I was kept in a drug induced coma for weeks. I lost count of how many surgeries and skin grafts I underwent before I was finally released.” Reaching out, he lifted one of her scarred hands and softly smiled. “I know about scars, Deanna, and I know how people react to them. They don't shock me, do you understand? I would never judge you or anyone else by their appearance. How could I possibly?” He lifted her other hand and brought both to his lips where he placed a tender kiss. “Over the past five years I've come to know you as a strong, sensitive, incredibly talented woman. You're one of the smartest, wittiest people I've ever had the pleasure to know, and I've admired you and grown to care about you. Now I want to see the beauty you keep hidden.” He tightened his hold on her hands when she tried to back away, already shaking her head. “Deanna, please don't back away. Don't you understand what I'm trying to say? I love you. I love the real you. I could never not love what you keep hidden from the world. Trust me, please.”
Surprise arrested her retreat. Staring up at him, she could see the naked emotion on his face.
“You, love me?”
“Yes. For a long time now.”
“I-I didn't know.”
For several long moments they gazed at one another and he saw the sheen of tears in her beautiful eyes. Finally, she blinked and sniffed as she briefly looked away. When her eyes again met his, he saw dawning wonder in their depths and smiled. She smiled sweetly in return.
“Max, you are the most extraordinary man I've ever known. When you say things like you've just said, it gives me hope for one day, one day...”
“How do you feel about me?” he asked in a whisper, his expression hinting at uncharacteristic anxiety.
She felt her cheeks heat and she looked away again, but he saw her shy smile in her eyes and waited not-so-patiently for her response. Finally, she met his eyes, her own soft and warm, the brilliant blue depths sparkling with happy tears.
“You are my friend, my partner, my muse. You are everything.” She stepped closer as he pulled her hands to his chest where she could feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath his Irish sweater. “I love you, too.”
Max took a deep breath and pressed her hands against him.
“Then, take off the scarf. Leave it behind, and don't hide from me any longer.”
Moments passed as she struggled with her fear. Finally, a tear escaped her tightly closed eyes.
“I'm sorry. I can't!”
He waited until she was looking at him again.
“Then will you let me?” he asked in a husky whisper.
He waited, but when she didn't respond, he left her hands against his chest and slowly reached up to where the scarf wrapped around her neck. There he paused, and when she still didn't say anything, he gently began unwrapping the silky fabric until, at last, he was looking into her face for the first time.
Her skin was like porcelain, except for the areas marred by old scars that had healed to rosy patches. High cheekbones rested below her large eyes, one of which drooped a little from the scarring beside it, and her luscious, cupid's bow mouth quivered slightly with distress. But she held still and allowed him just to look. Finally, he cupped her face with his hands.
“You are beautiful, Deanna. Truly, truly beautiful.”
“But my scars...”
“Are not bad. In fact, if you're still subconscious about them you could probably cover them with a little light make-up. But, to me, you're gorgeous without it. Just the way you are.” He looked around them. “Where's your mirror?”
“I-I don't have one.”
“You don't? Not even in the bathroom?”
“I painted over it when I bought the house.”
He eyed her consideringly.
“How long has it been since you've seen yourself?”
“I-I don't know. I guess when I painted the mirror.”
“And when was that?”
“About ten or twelve years ago.”
He nodded then took her by the hand and began drawing her toward the front door.
“Wait! Max, where are you going?”
“We are going out to my car.”
“To your...? But I don't have any shoes on!”
“Your drive is paved so your socks will be fine. Now, come on.”
She allowed him to pull her along after him, out the door, across the porch, and down the steps to where his rented SUV waited. There, he opened the door and lifted her in and, once he had her situated comfortably, he flipped down the sun visor and lifted the panel covering the lighted mirror. She instantly squeezed her eyes shut.
“Look, Deanna.”
He gently lifted her chin so that she could look directly into the mirror and waited. Slowly, her eyes opened, at first filled with dread but then changing to bemusement. After a moment, she lifted her hands and touched her cheeks, feeling the silky skin with the slightly rough rosy patches. Where she had last seen horrific scarring she now saw what looked for all the world like sunburnt flesh.
“I-I don't believe it.” She leaned closer. “Is that really me?”
“Yes, love. It really is.”
She touched another rosy patch.
“I guess the plastic surgeon knew what he was doing after all.”
Max nodded and smiled, then turned her to face him.
“You don't need the scarf, honey. Throw them all away or give them to a thrift store.”
She grinned impishly.
“Even my feather boa?”
He grinned in return.
“You have a feather boa?”
“Oh, yes. A firecracker red one.”
“And just where do you wear a firecracker red boa, if I might ask?”
“Anywhere I want.”
They laughed as he lifted her from the SUV then pulled her into his arms. Laying her head against his chest, she sighed.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For freeing me.”
“Honey, you were always free. It was just that no one had ever shown you the open door.”
Such a heartwarming story. It is interesting how self perception can be so self-defeating. My partner has deep scarring from acne and still is very photogenic. Her personality and natural good looks have men much younger than her trying to get a date with her all the time.
My editor/proofreader has been steadfastly with me nearly 10 years and I've only seen a couple of pictures of her. Early on, she mentioned that she might come and see me but she never did. She now lives about 40 miles away. Since I can no longer drive, I can't go to see her.
As far as FaceTime, Skype, or Zoom goes, we never have. When I Zoom, they can see my ugly face easily, but not what I'm wearing below, thankfully. ;-)
Audrey and Sue, both 42, took a trip to England completely paid for by Audrey's cheating millionaire boyfriend. “Cougar” describes older women on the prowl for much younger men, and although they didn't begin the trip on the prowl, somehow they bec
Destiny's Journey, judged Best Western in the Easychair Bookshop competition.
Family deception kept Jennifer O’Malley from marrying her first love ten years ago, West Point officer, Glen Herrington. Now a Civil War widow, she leaves war-torn Richmo
The tender notes of a piano seemed to slip shyly through the open windows of the cottage and out into the small glade. It was what Deanna's Irish grandmother would have called a fine, soft day. A day when the gray clouds remained high in the sky as they misted the ground below with gentle rain. The weather didn't depress her as it would have some. She enjoyed such days, especially when she was working on a love song.
