2022 Intention Word
Altered Ego
I fell asleep suspended among garments devoid of shape and zippers. It is the cat that wakes me, small and black, rustling under my dangling pant leg, alerting me to possible danger. Everyone knows Rebecca’s sidekicks are dogs. “There you are,” she coos, opening the closet, and I am elated. Rushing from my dreams, I’m ready be called into service. Instead, Rebecca pushes past me and her other discarded costumes, and scoops up the wicked intruder. The wooden door closes and as her face recedes, I hear a male voice from another room. Through a tiny crack I see her swing her hair, the sliver of light illuminates a broad smile. She glows. Is she flirting? Did Rebecca fall into a chemical vat? Thankfully she hasn’t turned green or grown scales, but something has certainly changed. Suddenly she reaches back in, pulls me from the hanger with her free hand, and drapes me over a shoulder, uselessly limp, and walks into the bedroom.
“Talk to me Bex,” the strange man says. She places both me and the cat on the bed, and there he is, standing in the doorway. This is how I meet our nemesis. What I fail to see is Rebecca’s transformation.
All I really wanted in the early days was a catsuit. Something tight and shiny, built for fighting. I know Rebecca created me to tear down obstacles and build everything back better, but was tie-dye really the way to go? She wants to project happy, so she dyes baggy overalls, shredding the legs to look hip. Hippy is more like it. A counter culture costume to counter despair. This is why she needs me, her “Wreck-It Rebecca,” to fight against crimes of the heart and crisis in daily life. Love slipping away. Death. Disappointment. Financial ruin. Doubt. We have a public image to uphold. Bills need to be paid.
Tinkerbell was right, people clapping really do allow us to fly, so I make my debut on social media. I will smile for the camera, tackle house projects and teach studio classes. I don’t get an awesome sparkly mask because my super power is illusion. Our audience must see her, even though it’s me, while Rebecca, the true identity, falls apart behind the scenes.
Most superheroes get a cool signal, like that bat outline projected high in the sky. Not me. My call to the latest disaster is a deep sigh performed in front of the bathroom mirror. Rebecca picks up a hairbrush, gives us a simple ponytail, and hides behind oversized glasses. Normally this is where my work begins. Face the day with plucky determination. I stand taller, vowing to hold us together. Rebecca smiles but it never reaches her eyes. I wonder who is wearing the mask.
This man keeps interrupting my reverie. “Do you have your word of Intention yet Bex?”
Bex? Superheroes can sense one of their kind. A new identity!
I am loathe to admit it but her new moniker is pretty kick ass. But him? His costume is even more lame than mine. A backwards ball cap and a Red Sox t-shirt. Come on. This can’t be a new sidekick. You don’t get to join a crime fighting team just because you wear a pair of tights. “Bill” could be plotting to destroy our world. The cat leaps onto his lap and purrs loudly, tail arching. This confirms the animal is his, and worse still, there is no clearer sign in the world of villains than a man stroking a cat. Bill is an arch enemy.
“I can’t seem to get motivated,” says Rebecca shaping our overalls in different ways, searching for an answer in the folds. “Wreck-It Rebecca knows how to handle things falling apart. Pride was her ignition and anger the fuel.” She lays her head on Bill’s chest and I’m fearful we are separating. Wistfully she asks, “if there is no crisis, what will Wreck-it fight against?”
“Do you still need her Bex?” He asks with caution. “Wreck-It was brave and hardworking but also exhausted. She felt lonely. And sad.” He takes Bex’s’ hand, “I don’t think she changed, but I know you have.”
Now I sigh. This is the truth. While I was in the dark, Bex threw away dried-up paint products and old work samples. Rebecca, fearful of trying something new, was stuck in jobs she didn’t care about. Bex has courage to walk away and start a new profession. Our van is gone. This new persona finds a way to embrace Rebecca’s memories but let anxiety go. Bex has passion, new dreams to conquer but not at the cost of battered relationships. She wants to live smaller but wider. Healthier and happier. These are the lessons, learned from me, Bex will fight for. It gives me comfort in my final hours.
The next day, Bex slips into black sleek leggings and I swoon. She fluffs her blonde bob after pulling on a turtleneck and bends down to lace up sporty work boots. Her new uniform is pulled together powerful. Her tools are waiting. Hammer. Saw. Impact drill. But most of all, a keyboard. Bex gives us a cherry red mouth. I smile at her one last time in the mirror with pride, and it reaches our eyes even through I see a tear. Rebecca won’t miss the tie-dye. The late hours. The praise for excelling in her old field. But she will miss me.
It was chemical but not a disaster. Love, the most complex of chemistry worked its magic and started the process. Now it’s time Bex claims her own super powers.
“My word of the year is Transformation,” she tells Bill. “It’s already started Bex, “I whisper as Wreck It Rebecca fades away.
