underneath

Michaela wondered when it was that she got so angry. Her brow furrowed as she attempted to focus on the soft hum from the ventilation fan in the bathroom. Fan. Water. Breath. Focus.

Her mind began its winding curl down her fragmented memory caverns. Names of ex boyfriends and visions of rude strangers began their turbulent coup. Fan. Water. Breath. Focus. 

Michaela’s eyes shot wide open. Pressing herself to a stand she moved to a small patch of carpet on the other side of her room, the incense wafting behind her as she did. She settled in, listening to the soft dripping of the noisy pipes just outside of her window.

Fan. Water. Breath. Focus.

No dice. Michaela stood, frustrated from the repeated failed attempt. When had she gotten so angry? 

As she fastened her hair into a pile on top of her head, her eyes fell onto her reflection in a large wooden floor mirror, too heavy to hang. Instinctually she knelt before it, the same question pressing into her forehead. When did I get so angry?

After a moment her eyes seemed to answer. 

I’m afraid. 

Michaela took a sharp inhale and held her breath for a moment as the words swam like furies in her lung beds. Gathering the tangles and fragments of frustrations, her exhale expelled itself from her chest as her shoulders dropped in release. 

“I’m afraid,” she whispered back to herself. And steadily her eyes fell closed.
Fan. Water. Breath. Focus

-b

May 20, 2020