Hollie Dugas
A Woman’s Confession #5,162
There is a tiny man conducting an orchestra in my medicine cabinet. I can barely hear the orchestra but it sounds like they’re playing Across the Universe. I find comforting the out-of-touch element of the man’s dark cupboarded smile. He winks at me, this small peculiar man, with a sort of wink that sometimes seems platonic and sometimes doesn’t. But is always unconditional. So last Friday night after work, I undressed, showed the small conductor what I look like naked. The orchestra stopped and every small doll-like head turned to stare. For a moment, I thought the undersized man was going to speak, tell me something that made sense, something that was forever. But he turned away. And the orchestra lowered their faces back to their instruments and started to make music again. I closed the cabinet thinking about van Gogh’s ear. The spiraled private part must have offered the artist some sense of Fibonacci. I just don’t know which little part of myself to give.