Beauty in the Room
Regina Ernst
Does brushing my teeth count as smiling? I wash my hands in the bathroom and stretch my smile in the mirror. If I don’t take time to smile to myself, will the muscles around my lips atrophy? I can already feel them shrinking, tightening from lack of use. My hands are cracking, too, from the winter dryness, but moisturizing multiple times a day without anywhere to go seems overly luxurious, crazy even. I can adapt. My husband calls me over for breakfast.
“How’s the new pan?” I ask, taking a seat.
We’re eating breakfast in our small dining room. That white winter light streaks through the corner window across my plate of scrambled eggs and toast. We got a new nonstick. We discussed and debated buying it for months, not because we couldn’t afford it, just, it was something to think about, talk about. What are the things we truly need?
“Easy.”
“To cook with or clean?”
“Both.”
“Better?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Worth it, then.”
I tell him about something I saw on a walk a month or so ago, maybe more, or maybe it was earlier in the week. I watched male cardinals chase each other around. Birds still experience things to get angry about, to feel jealous about. Maybe today I’ll click on that quiz link to find out what bird I am. If it’s a robin, I’ll kill myself.
He nods.
“No sun today, just light,” I say, squinting out the window. I feel I’m hunching my back, so I straighten it for a moment.
“Rain all day.”
“Yesterday, too.”
The neighbor downstairs coughs audibly. We both look at each other, not even nervous anymore, just annoyed at the volume and frequency.
“Beauty,” he calls me.
The circles around my eyes are so dark, I feel they’re slowly sucking in the whole universe like two mini black holes. The red mask bumps on my left cheek are visible out of the corner of my eye. Does he mean it? Could he? Or does he say it, because if he doesn’t, then there is no beauty in the room at all?
“What kind of fruit did you use in this smoothie?” I ask.
“Guess.”
“Peach and banana.”
“Pineapple.”
“And banana?”
“Of course.”
“Hm.” I nod.
“I like to mix in the other fruits sometimes, but I’m a classic strawberry and banana smoothie guy.”
“I know.” I do know.
***
Everyone I know is buying a house now. Sometimes I sit in the other chair in my living room to feel like I’m somewhere else. I bought a house in Breath of the Wild, though. Zelda. It was one of the last side quests I finished. I put those contractors to work, splurged on the decorative flowerbeds and the fruit tree, mostly to make the game last longer for the sensation of exploration and interaction.
A few years ago, I took a month-long solo trip to India, mostly to escape my desk job and do a lot of yoga. I touched strangers and was touched by strangers all day every day, their hands on my neck, back, arms, hands, thighs, calves. I remember the stink of my new friend’s feet when I was holding them to help her stretch. A man stood on me for hours to release pressure. I hugged a lot, kissed cheeks. There was Pranayama, too. Hours dedicated daily to sitting with acquaintances just breathing in each other’s air.
Regina Ernst graduated with her MFA in Fiction from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Her flash pieces can be found in Indicia, all the sins, and Storm Cellar. She currently lives in Alexandria, VA.