Addie May's Eyes

At night, when I’m trying to fall asleep, I look at the tapestry of my closed eyelids. It’s not just a blank, black canvas, but swirls and ribbons of differing shades of dark. I see images popping out of faces, figures, and shapes. It’s like looking up at the clouds and seeing animals and other objects in the billowy formations. Often, the images I see are the stuff that nightmares are made of, morphing into elusive solidity.

What do you see when you shut your eyes?

Last weekend, I was in an online writing workshop and I had to describe my face: my eyes, my nose, my forehead. I couldn’t look in a mirror, but had to see myself reflected in something else. I immediately thought of a photograph of my great-grandmother, Addie May. I wrote the following:

Self-Portrait

Today, my big oval eyes mirror those of my great-grandmother, Addie May. The first time I saw her black and white wedding portrait, I saw myself. She was half Cherokee. I am about as white as you can get, but I have her eyes. Mine are Atlantic ocean blue, hers were gray.

Today, I adjust my smudged glasses as they slide down my prominent, sloping nose. The Cronkhite nose. My dad and my older brother have it. I’m proud of my strong nose.

Today, my forehead is large, like my great-grandmother’s. I have permanent worry lines. Did she?

Now, today, I listen to one of my new favorite songs, “All in my Head” by Primrose Forever Sanctuary.

I wonder if I really am seeing a shadowy painting behind my closed lids. Or is it my brain conjuring up images to make up for the emptiness, the darkness?

Is it all in my head?