“Smile,” they tell me with a vague undertone of malice in the faded denim of their eyes, “You have such a beautiful smile.” And so I comply, not quite sure why I do so myself, when the small beings that reside behind the splintered glass panels of my eyes and rush frantic orders to the man behind the desk residing in my brain, reclined within the sanctuary of his study, feet propped in a rather unprofessional manner upon his mahogany desk, various clutter knocked askew to make way for his feet, whistles a nameless tune while drumming spider-leg thin fingers upon his knee, somehow managing to accomplish looking both bored and impatient simultaneously desperately attempt to cancel the fax sent to my brain to do so.

Against both our better judgments, I smile. The attempt in itself is far from a pretty sight. It’s not unlike waiting for a light to change, when that self-same light has been red for well over an hour. No matter how hard you lean on the horn, slamming your palm upon it in seizure-like fits, the damn light will never turn. And yes, as a matter of fact, it is doing it just to spite you. However, the strident, indignant blurt of the horns that serve as wagging human tongues are far harder to ignore-and harder still to spite, with my personality. And so, with the muted rumble of a crushed velvet stage curtain being slowly drawn back, my lips part with the same ponderous air, to reveal that dazzling bit of glory they so crave, for reasons I cannot fathom. So…I smile, feeling a sudden urge to utter the words “Woof, woof,” as I do so, fully expecting a hearty pat on the head, or a simple “Good girl,” or hell, even a barbeque flavored biscuit would be delightful. Something to make it worth my time.

So they walk away with triumph in their eyes, leaving me with nothing but the fading echoes of their footsteps, while they have taken away something precious indeed to me, and left me with nothing. And yet, why shouldn’t they rejoice? I did, after smile. But I did not simply smile. I smiled at them. Never mind the fact that they told me to do so. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t begrudge them this small moment of joy. It is a rather small thing to ask of me, I know. In truth, it pleases me that it pleases them. However…..I dislike being commanded. This goes not simply for smiling, but for anything. It just goes against my nature. Chalk it up to a Scottish background, but it would not be wise to slander them in front of me…then you have genuine trouble. However, when someone tells me to smile, they don’t seem to realize it is not a genuine smile. There is no joy, nor mirth contained in its depths, only a listless obedience to make them happy in turn.

The effect, then, is not unlike the sun veiled by clouds. The sun is still shining brightly as ever to those with a cheery outlook, but who can truly claim to know what the sun looks like? Regardless, if the sun is eclipsed by clouds, it is weary, a pastel watercolor, a mere whisper of its former glory. If I’m to be honest in this manner, it is best to be honest in all aspects. Few have seen my true smile, save for a few close friends and family members. They see the full extent of the smile; where it reaches my eyes and causes classic laugh lines inherited by my mother; where the smile bubbles up in endless laughter like fine Champaign. It is a gift of love I willingly give to them; a bit of warmth for them to wrap up and carry with them to end of their days. Not forced, but given freely, because I care for them so.

Perhaps that is why it’s so difficult for me to smile when commanded. It feels foreign-wrong, somehow. I feel guilty for not being honest with them-for sealing myself in a soothing web of false emotion for the sake of their pleasure. In a word-I become what I so fear to be perceived as-fake. Maybe that’s why I look so pained when I smile for them. I’m fighting myself every step of the way-dancing backwards in high heels. But I swallow my pride and smile. To quote a popular song, “She…she always smiles, smile, smile, ‘cause that’s my style.” I smile for your sake, just as I attempt to be there for those I love. I try not to mind that smiling on command is taking a bit of my light away, artificial as it is. So I let them bask in the false security of a falser smile. Hey-if it makes them happy, right? This is probably why, until recently, school photos were a horrible representation of the person behind that tight-lipped grin. A light that never reaches the eyes might as well never have been there at all.

In conclusion, I’ll gladly smile for you. If you ask it. But know you’ll get the full smile if I love you, as opposed to the closed fisted “Act well your part, there all the honor lies,” smile. So who knows? Next time I smile, it may very well be at you. Though I’d rather smile beside you than at you. So…smile? Good boygirl.