Sylvia, the Woman Next to Me

The sun streaming through my window and crawling up my flowery and peeling wallpaper woke me up that morning. I couldn't help but moan and curl up into my most comfortable ball position and snuggle my head into my down pillows to try to escape the light and therefore the impending day. I finally struggled out of bed and peered out my naked window, bare of blinds and covers. I don't have them because I often get claustrophobic and the small space of my room seems to press down on me without my window out to the world.

After a good yawn and stretch, I peered out into the plaza. The owners of the small cafes were just unlocking their outdoor tables and sweeping up dust so that customers would find their coffee tastier than the exact same coffee the vendor sold two shops down. Friendliness, hospitality, and the comfort in one another's presence all seem to be a façade now. It's really about the money for those shop owners.

I stared out for a little while longer before the rumble in my stomach steered me toward one of those scones Ms. Bess makes for me in the morning. I turned toward my door, but something flashed as I turned. The building next to mine, where other families just like my rich, middle class and white cosmopolitan family lived, contained one exception. Sylvia, a tired and haggard woman in her thirties was flashing a small mirror up to the ceiling, entranced by the sun bouncing off of it. It had bounced into my room as well, and I watched as Sylvia continued to lie on her bed in her own world, thinking about God knows what.

The girls I spent most of my time with were mostly like me: rich, white, with cute clothes, glamorous hairstyles, and parents who were generally distant and uncaring. Only I did not really like these girls...I suppose they seemed to just be there for me to pass my time. Sure, I was one of them, I suppose. I gossiped about boys, and made fun of the girl that had greasy hair, and I even went out on Friday nights to the clubs to look sexy and dance. We talked about Sylvia, and she often was one of our favorite burn subjects due to her loneliness, tattered nightgowns she never removed from her unshaven body, and the mirror she always had. But all of that gossip and tooling around was just like some motions to me; I couldn't really tell you why I did what I did

I decided to watch Sylvia a little longer. Something odd drew me to her today that was different. Normally I was able to pass right by and dismiss her as crazy, with her mirror, private thoughts, and flat affect. But today, tears streamed down her face as she stared up into the ceiling.

I had never seen her cry. For that matter, I haven't seen very many people cry in my lifetime, aside from babies. My parents were always away at work, and when they talked to me it was usually to tell me to sit up straight or to accomplish one of those writing projects for a scholarship to attend school next year. My friends were always "fine" I suppose, and crying wasn't really acceptable. Not that we've never gotten sad, but there is a blanket of understanding over us, and no one really wants to go underneath it to see what really lies within us.

Sylvia's tears confused, and almost frightened me.

I watched her rise from her bed, her eyes continuing to leak, as she pressed her mirror into her hand even tighter. Her knuckles went white, and she slowly padded over to her vanity. Another, yet very large mirror atop an ancient and beautiful white vanity attracted her eyes, and they widened as she touched her ragged golden locks atop her head. She sat with a hard thump, and, immovable, she stared at herself, as if she herself was a complete stranger.

I thought that maybe this was just another, albeit strange, crazy happening in Sylvia's life, and I supposed it would be good gossip for the girls to mull over later. But as soon as I began to turn away from the window once more, Sylvia burst into tears, pulling at her hair and scalp, and falling to the floor in what looked like agony.

My heart raced. She sobbed for what seemed an eternity. I thought that maybe I should tell Ms. Bess, but what would she do? Tell me I am silly for being concerned and that Sylvia's just crazy anyway? My parents, my friends, the shop owners...they wouldn't care. "Sylvia just is the way she is. She'll go back to lying in her bed soon enough. There's nothing we can do."

I saw Sylvia hiccup, wipe her face, and crawl slowly back to bed. I think she saw something in that mirror that we are all missing.