Blame The Weeds (gxg)

16

The afternoon sun cooked the back of my neck as I shuffled down the driveway. At the road, I opened the rusted mailbox and grabbed the stack of paper. My heart skipped as I flipped through bills, flyers, and coupon books—then plummeted as I returned to the hydro bill. The last round of acceptances had gone out this week. I'd fooled myself into thinking a school like New Hampshire North would overlook my shitty SAT score and bloody file. I slammed the squeaky metal shut and left.

Dad riffled through the coat closet, and Gabrielle was at the table tinkering with Rue's broken corded phone. Rue herself came downstairs with red eyes and braids pinned back. She clutched a phonebook to her chest and ignored me as she went right to the computer room under the stairs and locked herself in.

"Anything good?"

I flinched and met Gabrielle's sparkling eyes. "Not really," I said, clearing the scratch from my throat. I gave her the stack of mail, then pointed upstairs. "I'm going to go get ready."

"We leave in an hour," my father reminded me from across the room. "Gabs, where's my—"

"Under your side of the bed," she spoke, flipping through the flyers. Dad sighed and trudged upstairs. Gabrielle turned to me when he was gone. "I can do your makeup when you're ready. If you'd like."

After yesterday morning's chaos with Ida and the police, the air in this house was flooded with methane. Instead of lighting a match, I'd dished out apologies and kept my head down. I had making-up to do, so I'd let Gabrielle do my hair and face if it helped. I pursed my lips but nodded.

"Great," she said with a smile. "How about I meet you up there at..." She glanced down at her dainty gold watch. "It's already getting late. How's five o'clock? That should give you time to get dressed."

"Okay," I said, wringing my hands. As Gabrielle's face pinched, I quickly returned upstairs, nearly slipping inside my bedroom before my father left his.

I pulled off my shirt and jeans, and bumps erupted over my skin. The blue flowery sundress lying ready on my bed waited for me, but as I turned to grab it, I caught my reflection in the mirror on my closet door. And I stopped. My bones were weak. Healthy, but incapable. I wanted to lift, throw, leap and dance, but all I'd ever done was sketch and daydream. I had no idea what this body could do. Mom had been strong—I saw that in the old pictures. But in the end, this was her frame. Maybe that's why I had a hard time with mirrors.

I exhaled a breath and yanked open my closet. I pulled out mom's orange and gold sari and slipped into it, taking a few minutes to ensure the fabric fell where it was meant to. There. My skin was perfectly complemented by the colours, like mom. And I would have worn this every day if I could, but it wouldn't feel right. This was for the quiet spaces without eyes, for thick air and hopeful lungs. Tonight, I'd wear the old dress Rue picked out for me, and underneath, I'd wear the feeling of this fabric.

~

I was nothing but a doll with curly black hair, brown skin, patches of acne and a hooked nose, sitting here, forced to stare at my reflection. In truth, I looked nothing like the dolls I knew of.

Gabrielle's room was quiet while she flitted around me like a butterfly, glowing with delight that I allowed her help. But I read my uneasy dark eyes in the vanity mirror ahead. I was no doll at all.

"What look are you going for?" asked Gabrielle, her skin sparkling, highlighting parts of her cheeks gleaming. She smoothed the green dress of satin hugging the curves of her body. I shrugged at my reflection, studying the surface of Gabrielle's vanity, every beauty product imaginable laid across it. The brands were French and foreign to me.