Hide and Seek
by Valerie Wilkinson
Columns Best of Theme
I went looking for myself the other day.
Underneath crumpled scraps of sparkly holiday wrapping. Tangled among colorful New Year's streamers. I searched for pieces, remnants of myself strewn about in the aftermath of celebrations that had mushroomed out of control. All I found were pine needles.
I went looking for myself the other day.
On my desk at the office. Amid the Post-it© Notes and e-mails. I scanned my calendar for clues. Meetings with bankers and politicians sandwiched between teacher conferences and trips to the vet. I peeked out from behind the brown stains on my coffee cup, captured for a moment in a caffeinated haze. But then I blinked and disappeared.
I went looking for myself the other day.
In my husband's reactions, in his smile, in his frown. Searching the face of this person to whom I've committed my life. I felt myself briefly with his kiss on my forehead. But he was in a rush, off to make a living, off to live his life. I tried to grab hold, but he shut the door and I was gone.
I went looking for myself the other day.
In the reflection of my children as I shuttled them to soccer, art competitions, and to hang out with friends. I heard myself in their voices, saw my gestures in their hands. But only for a moment, until they too recognized the familiarity, and bolted in the other direction as if running from a ghost.
I went looking for myself the other day.
In classic fiction and New Age rant. I clung to the words, wrung meaning from the spaces, chased my love through the Moors, and visualized a glowing ball of light. And I was there, in both those places, both cold and hoping and warm and searching. Or I think that I was. But maybe not. Sometimes my hopes play tricks on my imagination.
I went looking for myself the other day.
Underneath piles of laundry and teetering stacks of crusty dishes. I even worked my way through the linen closet, fingering the monogrammed sheets and blue-light special towels. I double-checked the grocery list. Saw a glimmer of myself in the spattering of fresh fruit and non-fat yogurt amidst the soda and ice cream and chips. I felt a surge of hope before realizing that I was perishable, so easily out of date.
I went looking for myself the other day.
Among the pews at Sunday service. I searched for my soul in the hymnal. Tried to trace my features in the cool leading of stained glass. I held myself, if only for a moment, in the grasping of hands and the offering of peace. But I soon lost my grip amid talk of meetings and finances and potlucks.
I actually think that I did see myself the other day.
In the morning, in the mirror, in the first kiss of light. Hips a little larger than I remembered. The hair—a little more gray, a little less chic. Still, there was something. I think it was the eyes, damp though they were. Or maybe the smile, even with the quiver. There was something. I'm sure of it. A glimmer, a sparkle, a moment of grateful recognition.
I went looking for myself the other day. And, forgive me if I'm mistaken, but I think I saw that you were looking too.
VALERIE WILKINSON lives in Virginia Beach where she balances her time between family, work, and writing. She has written speeches for state and national politicians and has ghostwritten communications for business leaders, regional and international charities and political figures. She is the co-author of Whispers from Our Soul: The Voice of Tahkamenon and is currently completing her second collaboration Mafia Madness: My Life Under Siege. Contact Valerie at: v.wilkinson@cox.net
Findings | Coming Together in God’s Country | What Feeds Us | Hide and Seek | Best of Theme