Behind the Smile

by Rachel Foster

            He used to call me vain. I prefer self-confident. There’s nothing wrong with a little extra confidence, wouldn’t you agree? But no, it was always leave your ego at the door Mona, and stop examining your reflection in every shiny surface Mona, and my personal favorite, Mona Lisa you take that useless mirror back right now! It had a solid gold frame; perfect for framing my delicate features. That mirror went all the way from the floor to half a foot above my head. He considered it superfluous. But it was a necessity, I assure you. How else could I triple check to make sure my shoes went with my hairstyle?

But of course you don’t know who it is that I speak of. He went by the name of Di Vinci. Of course, that was after he made his attempt to change the world. I won’t tell you his given surname, it’s much too embarrassing. Beauty may be cruel, but I’m above any standard level of beauty. So I shall hold my tongue. Not that I’ve been doing otherwise. I haven’t spoken a word in so long, I wonder if my voice would still work. I imagine my vocal cords have shriveled up inside of me, rendered completely useless. I wouldn’t be surprised.

Oh Leo. So talented. I remember when he was first testing his ability to paint. He had such potential, he simply lacked motivation. Of course, when he saw my face he immediately began painting like a madman. I was everything he needed. I was his muse, his queen, and his friend. I would sit for hours upon hours, patiently watching him paint my lovely features. I grew used to having his eyes fixed on my face. His eyes would grow wilder with intensity as he tried to bring out my inner essence and splay it on the canvas. He only ever got one painting perfect. Just one. People say it’s the smile that drew them. Others say it’s the twinkle in the eyes. Like a swallowed secret that lingers there, and if you are very special, maybe that secret will be whispered in your ear.

Are friendship didn’t last long. Between his temper and my, confidence, we were hardly a good combination. I remember very well the last time we talked.

“Mona, must you go about in public so much?”

I sighed and undid the ribbons on my thick veil, clenching my hands in the folds of my hat. We were having this talk again.

“You know I can’t have you recognized. People believe you to be this mysterious woman!” He flapped his hands about in his wild way. “People tell me you hold the secrets of other worlds in your smile! I can’t ruin that illusion by having you recognized!”

My bored eyes glanced over his red face. “Oh Leonardo, you needn’t worry so,” I graced him with a condensing smile. “My beauty could never be mistaken for an illusion.”

“Mona Lisa will you pretend to not be the vainest creature alive for one minute and be sensible?!”

I paused, glancing at him over my shoulder in dry amusement, “Why Leo, you made a joke. Your sense of humor has at last crawled out from under all that awful sternness at last. Somebody should throw a party.”

 Leaning against the mirror, I watched his face turn an impressive shade of purple. “Come come Leo, you know bulging eyes aren’t the fashion. You rather look like a poor child’s nightmare of some obsessed creature.”

The table shook as a loud bang vibrated through it. I smirked at him. I hadn’t even flinched.

He cradled his red fist against his stained, faded shirt and glared miserably at me. “That is it Mona!” Yanking my hat from my fingers, he threw it on the paint splattered floor. “I am through with all your nonsense! Get out!”

I jerked back, my head hitting the mirror frame with a painful clunk. He was too close, his breath stank of cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey. “Get out,” his last command to me came as a soft, deadly whisper. I flinched away from his swollen, sweaty face. His eyes were so red, I half expected to see drops of blood seep from them.

I drew a quick breath of stale air, examining my shoes. Anything to avoid that horrid face. “As you wish, Senor Di Vinci,” I murmured soothingly. “I shall leave you in peace.” Inching my way along the wall, I knelt to retrieve my hat from the dusty floor, my stiff knees cracking slightly. The hat sat there, looking every inch like a great horrendous lump of black lace, fit only for Hades’ court.

My splendid brows furrowed, my clear eyes darkened, my perfectly shaped mouth tightened. I straightened with sudden force, my shoulders snapping back. Holding my head high, I gracefully moved toward the door with a scornful sniff. One scornful sniff, one bare head, one empty pair of hands, and a lumpy hat lying discarded among the dust and paint.

“Your hat Mona.”

I stopped, one hand on the doorknob. “I have no further need for it. You’re free to dispose of it in any way you deem worthy.”

Some say Di Vinci was a descendent from the gods. Some say he was favored by angels who blessed him with heavenly gifts. Everyone seemed to agree that he had a sort of divinity about him. I have always seen him as a talented artist, with a mind for brilliancy and an eye for beauty. 

But as I turned to reward him with one last angelic smile, my heart stopped. He stood there, looking at me as though I was the devil himself. All the color seemed to melt from his face and his bloodshot eyes glowered at me, wide and unblinking, seemingly frozen as beams of murderous light.

I felt myself fading, slipping slowly away from my mortal existence. I struggled to fill my lungs with air, my lips seemed frozen in a curious half smile. My heart beats slowed as my panic grew. I tried to force words from my unmoving lips, but the time for my utterance of sound was banished. My inward panic was chased out of me as my features froze in a calm, satisfied expression.

Leo! My brain screamed. Leonardo Di Vinci!

He smiled at me. A tortured cat who has finally trapped its prey. “Now you are as you should be,” he informed my silent self. “A mysterious beauty who will hold all of my secrets forever.”

I hang on this wall. I have watched countless people walking by. They stop to examine my goddess-like aspects. They question the reason for my smile. They ask me to whisper to them the secrets that hide in my eyes. Tell us, they beg, tell us why.

But I cannot tell them anything. My lips have been sealed in a permanently mysterious smile. My face displayed inanimately to protect Di Vinci’s honor.

I cannot tell you, I plead behind the curious smile and bright eyes. I cannot tell you he is just a man. And I am only his muse.