Smile. The straightforward definition of “smile”: “A facial expression in which the eyes brighten and the corners of the mouth curve slightly upward and which expresses especially amusement, pleasure, approval, or sometimes scorn,” (“Smile”). Little does that big book of words know about the reality beyond that flash of white.

         Smile. Family and friends have always told me that I had a beautiful smile. Constantly beaming, my mouth would widen, their compliment washing over me. I loved smiling at people and the happiness that flowed into their eyes when they grinned back, knowing that someone loved them, saw them and appreciated them.

         “You have the best smile girlie, it always brightens my day.”

         “I wish I had those dimples!”

         “So cute!”

         My smile was relentless, never letting up, anything to keep the compliments flowing. Smiling came as easy as breathing for me, one never far from spreading across my face. I reasoned, If it makes people happy, why shouldn’t I smile at everyone all the time?

         Smile. Last January was the first-time “smile” felt bitter on my tongue. Entering my neighborhood Publix, the janitor of the store called out to me, telling me that I had a beautiful smile. As always, I grinned in reply, thanking him before I set off to do my shopping. Returning twenty minutes later, he caught me alone in aisle one, no one else around for just a moment. Pressing me for information about myself, my discomfort rose as he slowly inched closer to me until I could feel the heat radiating off his body along the left side of mine, sinister smile stretched across his face. Suddenly, he wrenched me into a side hug, squeezing my hip, belting, “Give me a smile, girlie!” I was paralyzed, staring at his eyes, unable to form words. Confusion plagued my brain, what is happening? Why is he doing this? Who thinks that this is a normal thing to do? Will he stop if I smile at him? The smile I gave him felt foreign on my mouth, twisting my lips into something wicked. When he finally let me go, I rushed home, washing my face to cleanse myself of that depraved look.

         Smile. The word was not immediately marked as foul within my brain. Instead, I pushed the experience from my mind, choosing to move on rather than dwell on the past. However, all that changed one night a few months later. Sitting in my favorite restaurant, a waiter came to our table to refill our water glasses. As he poured water into my sister’s glass, he stared directly at me and echoed the words of the creepy janitor near verbatim. I froze, stomach turning at his parallel sinister look as the reality of his words washed over me. Approaching me from behind, heat spreading along the left side of my body, I yanked my glass away with shaking hands, claiming I wasn’t thirsty for the rest of the meal. 

         Smile. The loopy word tainted within the linoleum walls of my neighborhood grocery store. How could something so beautiful, like a smile, that is supposed to show excitement and glee, be turned into a stomach-retching response? Whenever I speak with my peers, their faces light up at the prospect of the word, lips turning up as they ponder its meaning. I hate their naivete. “Smile” is a word that haunts my darkest nightmares, grips me in the night and refuses to let go. One I have to learn to live with the reality of. I would like to say that I still smile at everyone I see, but I’m faster to closing my lips than exposing my teeth to the monster that lies before me. 

         Smile. No matter which way I look at it, I can’t shake the idea that a smile is naïve. One that invites the stranger inside in a seemingly friendly manner, yet opens doors for a shift in control. A smile is thrown around too carelessly, and instead should be kept close, protected, shielding its kindness. I am an optimist, though I firmly believe that you should keep anything you don’t want taken from you close, as you blink, and it vanishes. Your phone. Jewelry. A smile. Put in the wrong hands, it’s gone, and all that’s left is the memory of what it used to be.