It started like any other southern spring day, warm and humid, the air heavy with honeysuckle. One in which I smelled the flowers expelling fragrance as they bloomed. Eight years later, I still remember the beginning of my new life. That morning everything was familiar, yellow pollen dusted the curb and street, children’s voices blended in with the buzzing of bees, my eyes heavy from what felt like years of insomnia. I wore my customary armor of baggy shorts with holes and a men’s shirt that had stains from the roundup used on the weeds. I headed to the bus stop with my youngest child. She bounced rather than walked. Her beauty always covered up for my heart that was fractured in ways that seemed irreparable. In the distance I saw an unfamiliar face holding a familiar hand.
Life changed in the form of an invitation to have a cup of tea from a beautiful young man. The invitation was followed by talks, days, a weekend. Tea can change things in ways never thought possible. Completely innocent in the view of how the world judges what make something torrid. Somehow through the use of words and glances, he reminded me that underneath the rust of life, my soul was still well preserved. Long before I could tell women to feel beautiful, I had to learn how to feel beautiful myself. It was a true love affair of a soul. I saw myself through the eyes of someone who admired fine art and claimed I was a masterpiece. The restoration of my life began quite unexpectedly,but with a force that seemed to tear up the very earth I stood on. Eight years later the ground is still moving, and I like it.
