No gold gets its shine on a silver platter, and no eagle gets its strength on the day of birth. At nineteen, I was a fragile looking pot, housing the strongest bullet of soul the world knew. It took forever, to me, for my surgery date to arrive. My daily activities were almost same, day in and out. Billy would go to work, sometimes spending days before coming. I will get up, do my bathroom rituals, have breakfast in bed, watch television and either sleep or masturbate. If Billy was in, then I could have some activity and conversations which helped my time move faster.
The doctor, Dr. Stuart Grashem, was a short and plump man who looked very serious although friendly. He came in the first day, showed me a PowerPoint presentation of many different faces I could choose from. He gave me materials to read as to what I would go through and things I could do to cope. I was in disbelief as to what I was seeing. I could never have thought I would go through that if it had been prophesized. In the end, I chose a face of a superstar. I had the body of a model but my face was neither here nor there. Choosing what I wanted to look like felt like defying God. I saw my parents’ reproach in an imagination that was oh too natural. I wept myself to sleep while reading the materials Dr. Grashem gave me. I lost my appetite and got reported to Billy, who put his congress meetings on hold to tend to me. I felt I was losing touch with my authenticity, and felt miserable.
After going through facial calculations and drawings to plan through the actual surgery, I was given a day to, as it were, seek closure with the me circumstances rooted with my childlikeness and soiled by my greed, was making me lose. The me, the world no longer wanted to live with, the me whose head was a business being chased by persons who were being chased by poverty, the me whose tears could not save her from dying before my whole self. I wore a green dress which hugged my body. A short sleeved beautiful bright green which made my black complexion stand out and used wipes to clean my face until no dirt nor spot was seen. Then I watched my face in that mirror, letting the tears freely flow. Amazingly, my addictions vanished in the room of my thoughts. I felt sick in my stomach and drained of strength.
I saw myself on a stretcher, wheeled to another room in the same house, I saw a little bit of the setting, two doctors, their assistants, metal tools I had never seen before, injections ready to be pumped into my bloodstream, did not take long to feel the sting of its piercing tips, and a bright light which threatened to blind me, then blacked out.
I woke up with my head all bandaged. Only my eyes were seen in the mirror of the bathroom. I had been sleeping for over two days and needed to be held around. Billy did a good job caring for my needs. I felt all sore in my face with a headache I could not control. Migraines were now queens of my head but I could not complain much because I didn’t want to bother my benefactor. He owed me nothing. Although in a way, he got companionship out of our relationship, I felt that was a two way feeling like a double edged sword. That time gave me the chance to think through my life, think of the way forward, think of my mistakes and look for plans to live well, to at least be considered for the heaven Christians speak of.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © June 2018
Photo Credit: Google Pics