I spent the first 12 years of my life living on the east side of Milwaukee in a huge Victorian mansion. There were 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a formal dining room, 2 living rooms (or parlors, as the original owners would have referred to them), a dark scary basement, a real attic with high ceilings and a variety of other rooms.
In a house that big, it was easy to forget a child or two for hours. I would hide out on the landing of the attic stairs, or in the basement area my dad called his office (really just a private place to read nudie magazines and smoke). Sometimes I would climb the backyard fence and make my way onto the roof of the shed. It was hard to feel lonely in the private worlds I created. I could also turn closets into blanket filled caves. Who could be possibly sad in a cozy little cave?
One of my favorite hideaways was the world inside my infinity mirror. In one of the bedrooms sat an antique dressing table, dark wood with three mirrored panels that could fold in on each other. My game was to sit on top of the table and fold the mirrors around myself. Reflections of mirrors on mirrors created the effect of a corridor full of identical versions of me that just went on and on forever. I used to imagine that if I just believed hard enough, the solid glass would dissolve and I could slip into this magic world forever. It would be a world without loneliness, a heavenly prism of light complete with the most perfect playmates I could ask for. One day, while I was curled up inside this alternate universe I'd created on the dresser, I accidentally knocked over two perfume bottles, hard enough to disturb their caps. I know now that it was a bottle of 4711 and a bottle of L'Air du Temps. The scents of carnation, lemon and neroli filled the room as the liquid seeped into the wooden dressing table. I was young enough that I wasn't worried about getting in trouble so I began to smear it with my fingers, inhaling the uplifting essences. Suddenly I was filled with a strange knowledge, much like Eve may have felt after eating the fruit. It was the best moment of my four year old life. To this day I have a visceral reaction to neroli. A whiff of this oil and I can see infinite tiny versions of myself, full of joy and curiosity. To me, neroli (orange blossom absolute) is the fragrance of innocence and imagination. I wear it when I need to transcend the mundane and be self-possessed. It makes time stand still for me.
