There was a woman I knew who smiled and greeted everyone so warmly, everywhere she’d go.

The most beautiful smile in the world that can tame even the angriest of storms.

Made them feel special, even myself, when I was down and out, feeling bummed, but she never knew this.

I even spotted her on occasions when no one was looking, putting money into the hands of the poor, with a whisper for them not to say a word.

“Wow!” I exclaimed to myself.

“Who is this saint?”

So, I decided to follow her because I was intrigued by what she would do next.

She did the same thing every day, looking for people that she could help and brighten their world.

I surmised this must be an angel, so I decided to follow her home to prove more to myself that this angel’s physical abode belonged not of this realm but a heavenly one.

As I followed behind her, careful not to draw attention, she stopped and suddenly looked back.

She must have sensed I was there, but how could she have seen me? I knew I was careful.

She looked in my direction.

She knew someone was near, but she could not see me; I was well hidden, like an invisible shadow.

She shrugged and moved on.

“That was close!”

She entered a gate, unlocked her door, and walked upstairs, but I’m not too far behind.

She still did not see me.

I could see that she was entering a suite marked #7.

“A heavenly number indeed.”

What are the chances of that?

She did not lock the door behind her; she was too occupied with an old doctor’s letter in her hand even to consider it.

So, I found myself inside. Me, she still did not see.

I watched her carefully; I waited.

When I walked by, I could see my reflections on the mirror of the windows and pictures, but she still did not see me.

She went about preparing for the evening. A meal, a bath, when finally she came into the bedroom.

I was hidden, but my reflection, clear as day, could be seen in her dresser’s mirror.

“Too Late! She is going to see me; please don’t sit, please don’t sit!”

I whispered to myself.

She was just about to walk past the mirror, but then she paused as if seeing my reflection from the corner of her eyes.

I’m caught, I know she sees me, but she plays it cool.

Why is she still smiling that pretty smile?

She must have known about something that I didn’t.

Did she make a phone call?

I looked around warily, wondering if she’d set me up.

She turned slowly and sat on the ottoman, in front of the very thing that would expose all of me,

Her dresser’s mirror.

“I should have been more careful,” I cursed myself.

She looked into the mirror, right into my eyes, my eyes, looking back into hers.

We both stared at each other for a while, transfixed, because what came next was inconceivably horrifying.

Her hands reached slowly for her smiling face as she removed something.

An invisible layer.

Hidden behind that outer layer was a face I recognized too well.

A sad face, mascara paint running down from crying tears, filled with so much hurt, fright, horror, and fears.

We both gasped out in shock.

For that person behind that smiling “Joker’s Mask,” that crying face behind that pretense that everything was OK, was mine.

That letter had told us last week that we only had …

© By Nelly Vee