April 12, 2007

Though I can’t remember exactly how old I was when the arts and crafts fair visited Thornwood Elementary in Houston, I do remember the excitement I felt in anticipation of the event. When the day finally arrived, I reminded my mother of the fair on our daily dash to school and she hurriedly reached into her always disheveled and never zipped purse to hand me a few crumpled dollar bills dug out from among lint covered Certs, old receipts, and loose pennies. It was just enough money to keep me quiet and get me out of her rusty mint green Monte Carlo so she could speed off to work.

Upon entering the fair later that day, I was immediately overwhelmed by all of the choices laid out on the brightly colored tables. My blue eyes must have glazed over as I raced around the room, wild blond hair blowing behind me, as I anxiously roamed from table to table intent on taking a mental inventory of all my choices. There were vibrant silk change purses, collapsible combs, rubber bracelets, hair clips, and glittery pencils. I carefully examined all the merchandise and contemplated silently to myself as I made my rounds from table to table three and four times each. Eventually time was running out and I had to make a decision.

I headed back to a table I had visited many times before and asked the pretty Asian woman if I could buy a small heart shaped red compact, with the name “MOM” in painted white letters on the outside. She smiled at me, and said “I made a good choice” while she placed the item in a brown paper lunch bag, as I bent down to retrieve my neatly folded dollar bills by unzipping the pocket on my Velcro Kangaroo shoes.

After school that day, as my mom picked me up from daycare at Mrs. Lipps’s house, I could barely contain my excitement. When we arrived home I threw myself and my book bag onto the blue carpet floor of our den and un-wrapped the heart-shaped compact mirror and presented it to my mom. Her eyes immediately lit up and I can still hear her gasp as she exclaimed, “Jessica, I love it. I will keep it with me always.”

My mother kept that promise. For the rest of her days that mirror would travel from one disheveled purse to another as we made our journey through life. On occasion she would pull the mirror out and show it to me asking if I remembered giving it to her, talking to me in the same voice, as if she was still talking to the bright-eyed young girl that gave it to her. My reaction, depending on my age, ranged from silent surprise to a roll of my adolescent eyes.

A few weeks ago, I found that mirror as I went through my mother’s belongings six months after she had passed. The day I found the mirror I felt myself smile as I raced to the sink to wash away the grime that had become encrusted on the compact, no doubt a result of a life living in a dark purse surrounded by loose change and mints. I carefully dried the mirror and placed it in my purse.

I now wonder how many times she looked at that mirror and thought of how much I loved her. How on any hurried day, buried beneath all that she carried was the heart that I had given her. I wonder what she thought of the woman she saw in the reflection; what it all meant to her. I know I will carry the heart she left behind always.