Competition

She steps from the shower wiping the steam from the mirror and sees her reflection scowling. Three hours before leaving her home she maintains her meticulous routine. Every hair in place. The perfect pout. Longer lashes. Flawless skin. Narrow waist. The Anna Sui dress; so business appropriate. Never a wrinkle. Crisp. The Manolo Blahnik pumps. New. Her Coach bag beside her as she heads out the door. Composed. The cover of a magazine. Independent. Answering to no one. She tightens her coat. She hails a cab.

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At the bus stop waits a woman and a child. Every day, everyday. 30 minutes out of bed. Brush of hair - usually. Brush of teeth. Well worn running constantly shoes. Sweatshirt. Small jacket. Warm breakfast out the door. Hand knit hats and scarves mock the chill. Lunchbox check. Backpack check. Fussing with her chapstick tube; only for necessity. A wrinkled dollar bill out of wrinkled denim pockets for milk. A kiss, a hug, and off he goes. She smiles at him. A child smiles back.

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A cab is stopped at the street corner waiting for school children to board a bus. The woman in the back seat looks out her door upon the toil of motherhood and the needs of a child exceeded. In the smile given, and the smile recieved there's a pang of longing; for a beauty she can't compete with.