Essay about You 're Too Beautiful For Words
Skin taut and itchy against the rough nightgown she tried to twist towards the deep voice. Whoever he was, the man was blind. She couldn’t remember the last time she bathed, let alone got her hair set. If Mother was here, her Chanel Quilted 2.55 would be emptied of all cosmetics in seconds and there’d be no stopping the frenzied makeover. No sense in correcting him, though. Mama always said take a compliment like it was a Violet Mint.
She didn’t feel the need to answer; it took too much effort. Besides, the constant beeping to her right reminded her of that old jazz riff, some man used to play for her, and she couldn’t remember how it started. She sang along warbling over the commotion of people coming into the plain, pale room. When the big woman in baby blue fixed the machine and it stopped, she kept on singing. Didn’t stop when the woman started asking redundant questions either. Why did the lady need to know her name or what day it was? It was on the white board across from her twin bed in legible, albeit pitiful penmanship.
“Babe, eat something. Please, for me.”
She didn’t want to eat the food on the tray. Looked worse than her first attempt to cook for her husband. Thick, beige gruel reminded her of the Cream of Wheat Mama would make every Wednesday. Alexandra could never forget when the Ross boy came to stay with them for the summer. His aunt was the housekeeper back then and he started a fire in the kitchen trying to…