The Confessions Of A Concubine

And feeling invisible 23

And feeling invisible

There are days when I feel beautiful and shiny.

I look at myself in the mirror and I see my face that is reflected, my turquoise eyes, my not very full lips, which are little, my freckles that barely stained the skin around my nose.

I pass my hand through my red, silky hair, and I melt thoughts by using my fingers.

Realizing that my husband does not ignore me wounds me to death during those days. He does not seem to consider what belongs to him by rights or by contract, and, just like a short-sighted person, he does not perceive what is near him.

I have never spruced myself up for the others, but being ignored like this, being invisible, unimportant and less than an annoying fly is humiliating. You never get used to it.

I angrily grab the same old thick flannel, which is discoloured due to the fact that I have used it many times, and I catch my hair in it whose plastic teeth bite it, letting my heart, my soul, my pride and my self-respect be hurt.

And he cannot even feel this sudden anger of mine.

He looks at me briefly, as if he cannot focus the whole situation neatly, and I drown in this incomprehension as usual, and I choke back tears that would rather break free and swallow the bitterness and that lump in my throat that seems to be unswallowable.

Everything will change tomorrow, or rather I hope I will change tomorrow.

***

“This haircut suits you, Misia!”

Peter’s voice uttered those words, which were music to my ears.

I felt my cheeks flush and a blush crimsoning my neck, and I lowered my eyes instinctively, since I did not know exactly how to reply to him.

I was not used to receiving compliments. I’d been waiting for those words to come out of my husband’s mouth for a very long time. I had yearned for that to come true in too many dreams. But it was that man, who did not belong to me, that was making my skin shiver and punker and the desire for pleasure that is hidden inside every human being come true.

Peter was a colleague of mine that worked in supermarket management. He used to be cheerful. His hair was slightly long and dark and wisely tousled.

Truth to say, if his eyes had not been persistent in meeting mine, I still would not be paying attention to him. After saying hello to me, he tried to begin to talk with me somehow. On those occasions he made his first appreciations and paid me veiled compliments.

I was unaware, thirsting, pitiably in need of appreciations as I listened to him.

That was strange, since my education has never allowed me to enjoy the unknown feeling of being appreciated.

Compliments were something very rare in my family. After marrying Philip, the situation remained unchanged. He was such an introverted man that I used to have the feeling that he did not even notice me.

But I married him.

And there was nothing to do now but to accept what was handed to me on a plate, without dreaming of anything else.

Heeding Peter’s words was like character assassination. I am aware of this fact. But each shadow that is inside my heart disappears in a flash as I listen to his words.

But it lasts a very short time: as soon as the echo of those sentences dies away and Peter is out of my sight, my heart will freeze.