A Shift In Perspective | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: A Shift In Perspective | Previous Challenge Entry
By Catherine Craig
02/11/16
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Ruth's scalp itched. So she reached under the elastic band that held the cheap wig to her hot sweaty bald head to scratch. Then she held out her long elegant - what Mother had once called piano fingers - for inspiection.

Satisfied that her french manicure was intact, Ruth smiled. Not one nail crowned with an elegant line of white nail polish had been damaged.

Stiff from her long prayer vigil, she stood up and stretched. Smoothing the soft material of the long sleeved dress that hugged her trim body and perfelctly matched her eyes, Ruth frowned. Earlier, Scott her boyfriend had bit back the word gaunt that contradicted the word "trim" she'd used to describe herself and she'd shot him a scathing look.

Though the entire word hadn't quite made it out of his mouth, she'd known what he'd meant. The truth was that he didn't like the wig, and wasn't dealing well with her bald head either.

Ruth didn't have to look in the mirror to see the revealing raccoon-like rings around eyes that no matter how much make-up was appied still showed the fatigue she tried to hide. Rubbing at the tender spot just under her armpit where lymph nodes had been removed, Ruth tried to keep from worrying about the throbbing in her arm on the same side.

The doctor had suggested that the ugly constricting flesh-colored sleeve still sitting unopened on her dresser at home might help. However, vanity had won over practicality. Just as in choosing the wig over a simple scarf, Ruth had refused to wear the repulsive article of clothing that stuck out from under any sleeve she might wear.

Besides, maybe if Ruth pretended it hadn't happened, she'd wake up to discover the whole mess had been a dream. It felt like a nightmare!

Hot tears sought release but Ruth squinched her eyes shut, holding them back. Loneliness like she'd not felt in years flowed over Ruth but she lifted her chin, determined not to give in to weakness. Clutching the chrome sides of her padded chair, she breathed deeply, feeling their smooth solid surface.

Ruth opened her eyes to stare unblinking at the cross just a few feet from where she sat. On a plaquard screwed to the wall below were the words, "Taste And See That The Lord is Good".

She spoke the words aloud softly., once and then again, and again. Tears, unchecked, rolled down her cheeks as she sobbed.

Ruth dropped from the chair onto the kneeling bench and laid her forehead against the rail. Startled at hearing someone keen the words, "Jesus, Jesus!", Ruth opened her eyes to scan the empty room, and realized it had been her crying out for help.

But before the familiar shame for having lost control could sweep over her, she felt engulfed in a wave of peace. Also flowing through and around Ruth was the delicious sensation of sugar floating in the air, almost like cotton candy. She could "taste" it with her body, with her very being! Somehow Ruth knew it was the Presence of the Lord.

"I'm tasting You Lord," Ruth cried, feeling her lips curve into a smile as she lifted her eyes to the Cross. But when her hands went up into the air in a gesture of praise, and she also noticed a split nail.

Grinning even more broadly, Ruth raised her arms higher. Laughing out loud as the wig slipped from her head to the floor, she began to sing.

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