She Leaves Perfume Behind

Some women leave lipstick marks.
Some leave cigarette smoke.
Mom leaves perfume behind like evidence.
You always know where she has been in the apartment because the air changes afterward.

Angel in winter.
Poison when she’s wearing dark silk.
Allure during the day because she says elegance should never “scream before lunch.”
And Opium for evenings when clients come over and everyone pretends they aren’t competing with each other socially.

Personally I think perfume says more truthful things about people than conversation does.

Mom never smokes. NEVER. She says cigarettes ruin hands, fabrics, skin, rooms, everything… Which is ironic considering half the people she works with smoke dramatically while discussing gemstones under expensive lighting, my Dad also… She designs high jewelry the way surgeons perform operations. Quiet concentration. Tiny movements. Absolute control. Sometimes I sit near her studio table pretending to do homework while watching diamonds under white lamps. Loose stones look strangely cold before becoming jewelry. Like they haven’t decided who they belong to yet.

I asked once if rich clients become attached to jewels emotionally and she said, “No. They become attached to what jewels say about them.” Honestly one of the most frightening things she’s ever told me.

Tonight she was wearing Opium and black heels while preparing for a client dinner here tomorrow. The apartment already looks unnaturally perfect. Glass polished. Flowers arranged aggressively. Candles waiting like decorative witnesses.

BALANCE.
Remember me,
Eclipse