A mother and daughter fussed over
bags with pricy brand name labels like Hot Topic. They were both brunettes with streaks of
blonde and vibrant red that were probably added today at a ritzy salon. The high school girl strutted around in a hot
pink sun dress with black lace edging the bodice and bottom hem. “I dare them to call me a boy now!” she said
triumphantly, spinning around.
I marveled at her perfectly
feminine hourglass shape and glowing makeup, wondering how anyone could mistake
her for a boy. She could be a pop
star. Then I caught my own reflection in
one of the windows. My hair was pulled
back tight, I didn’t even own makeup, and I had on a boring old forest green t-shirt
and denim jeans worn down to white strings at the knees. I looked more like the biker boy than the
pretty girl. I grabbed my big duffle,
the Penney’s sack and two small bags out of the back of the camper. “Dad, I
need to find a restroom… like now.”
After a couple quick words with
Andy, Dad led me past a long row of small planes in bright colors to the
bathroom. He stood outside, examining a
brick red 5-seater float plane that was tied down nearby.
I changed into the sparkly goddess
shirt with tapered sleeves I’d found at the hip New Age import store, then pulled
down my brunette hair and brushed it out.
Hints of auburn sparkled through it.
I tied back the front third at the top of my head and let the rest fall
loose. I traded the worn out jeans for
new sea-green jeans with silver stitching.
I smiled into the mirror and the difference was striking. I looked like her mother did on screen
fifteen years ago. I’d just have to
remember to smile…
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