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It was rare to have these small moments all to herself. With dad at work, and mom taking Elizabeth and April to some mother-daughter function, she was left, happily, to her own devices.
She spun around, and couldn’t help the big dopey grin that formed when the skirt frilled out. It wasn’t anything special, considering it was just mom-clothes, not even close to what teenage girls actually wore around. She only wore light makeup; some shiny lip gloss and mascara, with a bit of blush. She barely managed to make that look nice, she thought, lord knew she wasn’t going to attempt foundation and concealer and lipstick just yet.
But it didn’t matter. She felt warmth and happiness and wholeness, even if only momentary. She enjoyed the feeling of looking the way she knows she’s supposed to look, before reality set in; how the skirt dug into her sides and the blouse was tight at her shoulders, subtle signs that they weren’t quite meant for her. She runs a hand through her short, shaggy hair and her face crumples with discontent.
‘Please, Michael, you’ll look like a dog’ She remembered her mother chuckling after she asked if maybe they could skip the back-to-school haircut this year. Her hand grips her scalp harder, before she lets it slide off and fall back to her side.
Soon, she’d have to take off the blouse and the skirt and the light makeup, and pack herself back into the little box in which everyone perceived her. On would go the baggy clothes, and return would the cold, droopy feelings of sadness and longing. There’s a stinging in her eyes now, and she groans as she tightly clutches the hem of the skirt.
It wasn’t fair. Not in the slightest.