“Relax,” the way he says the words reminds me of my mother because of his smile.
Whenever I’m receiving less than pleasant news from my mother she purses her lips and gives me a smile that is the bearer of a consolation prize. It really isn't a bad face, but I can recognize the look a mile a way. The first time I can remember her making the face, I was five years old. They were sending my cat Giana St. Matthews away. I was allergic to her hair and the medicine made my hands and face break out in hives. I remember how much I cried that day Giana was given to my cousin Dina. I knew she would be happy and taken care of, but it still didn’t make me feel any better. My mother told me to relax with her best smile while my father handed me a puppy.
In this moment he stands before me. I know he’s only trying to calm me and there’s no consolation prize. No puppy or pressing of lips into a smile that will mask my disappointment through placation. There’s only a reassuring calm in his voice that keeps pressing onward. Comforting my mind and reminding me that although nothing can make this feeling improve it can be released. As this moment progresses and expands into an unending din in my mind he continues to be the voice of reason. His voices soothes and reminds me that I’ve worked myself into a tirade of worry for nothing; that all of my anxiety is unnecessary and I am overreacting to situations and things that are beyond my control. I know that the only chance of releasing my panic is to let it all go.
“Relax,” he says and smiles again.
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