My Narcissus by Karian Markos

I first met my Narcissus in the Macy’s cosmetics department. She wore a brown, collared, fox-fur coat that nuzzled her chin, and spent the good part of an hour studying herself in an oblong mirror by the lipsticks, trying on every color in the palette, pouting and puckering her lips after every swipe of her glossy finger.

“I think I am in love,” she said after applying a waxy, pink-tinted gloss, kissing the air between herself and the mirror. I envied that lipstick; how she let it linger on her lips, dabbing the vermillion with the tenderness of an attentive lover.

Days passed and my Narcissus shaped her ritual. Every day that week and the next, she came back, sampling product after product, seated at the mirror from the time the store opened until it closed.

She tested her way through the different lines, never buying anything. I encouraged this indecisiveness, hoping she would continue to visit. Butterflies multiplied in my stomach while moths flourished in my wallet. The longer she stayed at my counter, the more my sales commissions diminished. Only so much of a customer’s patience could be expended on a besotted salesperson unwilling to divide their attention.

“Quite a beauty, isn’t she,” I heard someone whisper in my ear from behind.

Everyone called him Diaz, though over the years the gentleman had been known by many names. He was a debonair fellow with silver hair combed and pomaded to perfection, and glossy eyebrows that framed his thunderbolt eyes. He managed the cosmetics department.

“Rarely have I come across such a love that rouses my curiosity,” he said to me, squeezing my shoulder. I caught a whiff of his dizzying musk cologne. “How do you propose to woo her?”

“Woo her?” I asked. Spoken like a man from another era. “Not a chance, Diaz. She is way out of my league.”

“And why not, Echo? Do you not believe yourself to be worthy of such a beauty? If you squander this opportunity, I shall be forced to woo her myself.” His eyes twinkled with excitement.

“You wouldn’t,” I replied, annoyed by his zeal.

He chortled at me like only a man with no scruples could.

“Mark my words, my dear, you will not get anywhere with her by gazing mute.”

“Maybe you should concentrate on your own conquests,” I said, noticing Diaz’ frequent glances toward the nymphish salesgirls gathered beneath the thick cloud of heavily perfumed soap dust at the boutique soaps counter. Bubble gum pink manicured fingers pressed to their lips, their attempts to hide their twittering were futile. He showered each in turn with his charms, made friends, then made enemies of friends. His only obstacle was his darling wife, Hera.

“Let’s make a deal, my friend. If you distract my beautiful wife, I promise to help you win over your Narcissus here. What do you say?”

A tempting, though risky, bargain. Among other things, Hera was notorious for her jealousy and vengefulness. With clenched jaw and blush-stained cheeks, she meandered through the shopping mall on a daily quest for evidence of her husband’s infidelities. The acquisition of discount Louis Vuitton accessories was secondary to entrapping her beloved libertine, though it was still an objective, nonetheless. I did not want to cross her, even on a good day.

Hera often popped up unannounced at my makeup counter, interrupting my pining gazes at Narcissus. Puffed and primped, powdered and lacquered, Hera smelled of an acute naphthalene and discontinued designer perfume cocktail. I wanted to ignore her, but the excess mirror neurons in my cloudy brain commanded I offer a greeting. I then dove, once more, deep into my infatuation. She asked if I had seen her husband. I said no, my rapt attention fixed on one being alone. My Narcissus.

“He’s on break. Try Auntie Anne’s,” I muttered. “Or come to think of it, check Orange Julius. You know how much he loves his smoothies.”

Misdirection of this sort went on for some time. Diaz’ promises to help me were strong impetus to continue the charade, though I had yet to see any effort to execute on his part. The amount of chatting required to distract Hera was ever increasing and cut into the time I had with my Narcissus. Diaz would have to make good on his promises and quick for me to keep this up.

Weeks went by and I fell more deeply in love.

One day, as I watched my Narcissus gently palm her tiara-ringed, high ballet bun—it accentuated her graceful jawline and swanlike neck—she sat down, lightly huffed, and said, “there is no love greater than this.”

Yes, I thought, resting my cheek on my hand. The sweet sting of the unrequited kind. A television across the aisle from my station played a perfume ad on perpetual loop. The black and white screen lovers rolling in wet sands prodded at my lovelorn heart with every whispered obsession that marked the end of the loop.

“That’s the stalker song,” my Narcissus said, not looking away from her mirror image.

I looked around in wonder. Was she talking to me? No one else was around.

“What’s that?” I asked, shrinking the distance between us.

“That song in the background. Every breath you take…I’ll be watching you.” She took the mirror into her hands and brought it closer to herself. “I think it’s crazy romantic to love someone like that.”

My heart pounded watching her brushed-silk lips curl around the words as she spoke them. This seemed like an opportunity to share my own ideas on love, but what to say escaped me. I looked over to Diaz’ station. He was nowhere to be found. I would have to do this on my own. I took in a deep breath and readied to profess my love.

Before I could make my overture, I heard Hera’s shrill voice shout from behind me. I turned toward the commotion.

“I’ve got you, you cad! Get over here!”

She chased Diaz out of the fitting room, repeatedly whacking him with her purse as he shrank away from her, blocking her swings with his forearm. One of the salesgirls snuck out of the fitting room buttoning up her top and hid behind the other girls at the soap counter.

A pivotal blow that left a crocodile pattern imprinted on Diaz’ cheek ended the thrashing. He shielded himself behind a life-sized cutout of Christy Turlington, while a satisfied Hera straightened herself up and made her way to the door. But just before she was about to exit, I caught her eye and her ire. She clomped toward me, anger knitting her painted brows. She cleared my counter with a sweep of her arm and sent a stack of colored powders and tubes clattering to the floor. Then, she cursed me.

“You are a deceitful little imp, aren’t you? Covering for him! Since you are so fond of diversions, perhaps your voice should be diverted from your mouth.”

Then, she turned toward my Narcissus, who was still admiring herself in the mirror, undeterred despite the ongoings around her. Hera slapped the mirror out of her hand, and it fell to the floor, shattering to pieces.

I opened my mouth to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you a new one right away,” but I couldn’t. When I opened my mouth to speak, nothing could be heard but static from the overhead PA system.

Crumpled to the floor, my Narcissus picked at the pieces of the broken mirror.

“Oh, my love,” she pined.

“My love,” I crackled from overhead, able to speak only the last of her words.

She perked up as she frantically searched for the speaker.

“Is it you, my love? Tell me where you are.”

“Where you are,” I repeated over the PA system.

“Perhaps your love is over there.” Hera pointed to a fountain, at its center a statue of a winged Eros with bow drawn discharging a thin stream of water from his mouth.

As my Narcissus wandered deeper into the store, I could see her swift descent into madness. Mirrors all around her caught her reflection—on columns, countertops, behind products in glass cases. She chased down her image, only to be captivated by the next mirror and the next.

Hera leaned over my counter and squeezed my cheeks, her blood-red, acrylic nails poking into the fleshy parts. Drawing me closer, her breath felt icy on my skin.

“She can never love you, dear.”

A satisfied grin spread across her face.

I couldn’t bear to watch my Narcissus suffer any longer. My innocent, lovesick girl. I ran to her, took her by the shoulders to calm her. I managed to guide her to the ledge of the fountain’s reservoir, and we sat down next to each other. Then she settled; her gaze fixed on what I thought was me.

“My love,” she said, her breath slowing.

“My love,” I returned from above.

Her look was so tender, so earnest. A tingling desire overtook my senses. I wanted to be closer to her, to be one with her. Everything about her spoke love to me. I pulled her close and I kissed her.

I only realized my mistake when my Narcissus spurned me, shoving me back with a two-handed push of such force that I tumbled backward into the pool. Thoroughly soaked, shocked, and speechless, I stood up finding myself face to face with Hera pleasantly watching the spectacle. She pointed to something and cackled.

Leaning over the concrete reservoir, the revelation was clear. My Narcissus hadn’t been looking at me. The reflection in the crystalline pool had captured her loving gaze.

“I’ve found you, my love,” said my Narcissus.

“My love,” I said, a tear mixing with the chlorinated fountain water that dripped from my sopping hair. In my despair, I staggered, knocking into the pedestal at the center of the fountain. Eros teetered, his ill-balanced body falling arrow first into the water pinning my Narcissus to the bottom of the pool. I dove to her rescue, but the statue was immovable. Bubbles rose to the surface as she expired. Yet on her face, a look of bliss, contentment, a sparkle in her eyes. I did not have to look to know there was a mirrored ceiling above us.

My Narcissus had met her end.

Hera scoffed at me with bitter contempt before throwing her stole over her shoulder and stalking out of the store. Diaz crept from behind the cutout and approached me, though his empty words were no consolation. My Narcissus was gone and all I wanted to do was disappear into my sorrow. I withered until I was nothing more than a woeful disembodied voice. Management received quite a few complaints about the occasional sobbing coming from above, and so to resolve the problem, they piped in a steady stream of Muzak to cover the sound.