Reflecting Girl

“Did you read my email?” she asked a few years ago.

“Yeah, did you read mine?” I replied.

“Uh-huh. I liked it.” And I think I heard her move the phone closer to her ear.

Those were the whisper days, the days we had to talk so soft to keep from exploding. Talk so soft just so we could lean closer to each other. Talk so soft our words could only be represented in type.


“Sit right there,” I said to her some time later. “Right there in the grass. And let me take your picture.” I’ve never shown anyone that photograph. It’s just for me. Her brown blouse and skirt and the greenest inner-city grass ever. Houston rocketing above us and the little patch of grass we found.

Later that day the most incredible thing happened. The sun was thickening and I remember that we were the only two venturing from the safety of shade. People looked at us as though we were walking through a blizzard in shorts.

Her face brightened and we walked some more. Her eyes closed just a bit and I noticed something happening around us, something a little disorienting. I realized that things were changing, things around her. I took a step back and saw exactly what was happening. Simply incredible. As she walked by something, a concrete-blocked wall or metal fence or oak tree, whatever it was its surface began reflecting her image, like she had suddenly become a part of everything. Or like I was beginning to see her in everything. It lasted for only a few moments. But it did happen.

Maybe it had something to do with the whisper days. Communication reduced from sound to a completely different state of awareness.


“What?” I ask her.

“Come closer,” she says. “I’ll tell you.”