Smile :)

You smile and wave as the school bus pulls away from the curb. A lukewarm mug of coffee is clenched in your other hand, closed around it so tightly it could shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces at any moment. You lean close to the mist-covered window to see your daughter’s face, the same toothy grin reflected back at you from the back seat.

The smile stays etched onto your face until the bus has rounded the corner of the street. You pull away from the cool glass, place the still-full coffee onto a small sidetable, and feel your jaw relax. Your eyes flick over the chaos that erupted over your living room while getting your daughter ready for school, and set about clearing up the spilled cereal and discarded Lego bricks. Glancing at the steadily growing pile of laundry taking over your new couch, you decide that particular task can wait for another day.

After stepping on one too many Legos which blend too easily into the dark carpet, you stumble into the hallway in search of an old pair of slippers. You walk past the floor-length mirror and feel your face change. The smile finds its way up again, and even though you avert your eyes as quickly as you can, the grin stays fixed until you leave the room. A sigh forces its way through your cracked lips as you massage your cheeks, and you carry on up the stairs, tidying as you were.

The mirror in your bedroom has a towel hung over it, blocking it from sight. It stands proud on the wall beside your bed, and after a time you found it much easier to get through the day by simply covering it up. One less thing to worry about.

What are you worried about?

The doorbell sounds downstairs, echoing through the empty house.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

The deadbolt clangs noisily as you drag it across. You feel the smile tugging at the corner of your lips already. When you pull open the heavy front door, you see your neighbour Mildred standing on the top step of the porch. She holds out her hands to you, passing a container full of cookies. Your eyes shift up to hers, and you startle for a moment when you see the huge grin spread over her face. Even a woman well into her 80s can smile brightly when the occasion calls for it, you consider.

She asks you about your day, how your daughter’s dance recital was at the weekend. You check in with her and remind her to call you, as you left the landline number taped to her fridge door the last time you went over. You smile and nod at each other, and wave each other away after a few minutes, of course only after thanking her for the wonderful treats. The door closes, and your face relaxes again.

It’s painful, now. It’s only 11am. You touch your jaw to massage it, and wince at the feeling. Turning to the hallway mirror, you forget momentarily. The smile reappears, bringing with it the ache that had just started to diminish.

The school bus returns at 4pm. Where the rest of the day went, you’ve no idea. You hear the breaks and the automatic door opening, and clamber out of the fort you’d made from the bedroom.

At least under there, you could fully relax your body.

You pull open the front door again, noticing how chipped the paint around the edges has become. You remember the coffee mug you left behind that morning, just as your daughter comes barrelling down the path. You see all the children sitting patiently, waiting for their turn to return home. The same rictus grin repeated at each and every window.

Tears prick your eyes as the smile takes over again, and the two of you stand and wave from the open doorway until the bus has turned the corner. That same toothy grin mirrored back from such a small face.

Your daughter wants to show you what she made at school. It’s a gift, she tells you. While all your head tells you to do is hide in the blanket fort, you smile and nod. You can’t say no to that smile, now can you?

She opens her pink unicorn themed backpack and takes out two similar pieces of fabric.

“Close your eyes, Mommy,” she whispers. You oblige, and sense something soft pressing against your eyelids. “I made one for both of us.”

You reach your hands to your face and feel soft fabric covering the top half of your face. An eye mask, of sorts.

Your daughter takes your hand, and you forget sometimes how tiny her palm is compared to yours. You feel her face, too, and she wears the same thing. You pull her into a hug, and hold her tight.

Your jaw suddenly relaxes itself. For the first time in a long time, you smile a real, true smile.