O
Five a.m., and instead of flossing my teeth with cinnamon string, I was carefully washing my hands. If you didn't get that, let me elaborate: Instead of getting ready for school, I had been busy finishing myself off.
Now, let's switch topics because I'm not comfortable talking about masturbation.
I don't look in the mirror often. Not because what stares back at me isn't alright- the random compliments I get from older ladies and from randoms on the street is more than enough to attest to that. Nice brown skin, smooth because of the way my people instilled the need for skin care into me at an early age, dark brown hair woven into locs, a few freckles across my face that I don't think I've always had, and my round, black glasses usually top everything off.
But you don't sleep in glasses. Not unless you're exhausted. So my glasses sit somewhere in my room, and I stand somewhere in my bathroom. I'm not gonna look in the mirror. I'm not-
My eyes slowly slid up to the glass, and instantly fell back down. Shame burned through me. Definitely wasn't the same girl I was the last time I looked at myself. My face was more matured...and right, I haven't worn glasses since seventh grade. I wear contact lenses now and those few freckles had turned into a few more...and I wasn't as rounded in my figure as I was back then. My build had straightened out, and I had less chub. I had a heart tattoo hidden on the underside of my left wrist that my dad don't know jack shit about. A different me to my eyes. Because I was living a different life.
Why did that have to make me feel so guilty?
Ian lying. I really haven't looked in the mirror in a long while. I swear nobody else could understand the struggle of getting ready without one each morning... but I did.
I have.
Until today.
It's Monday, and I'm going to see everybody that knew about what happened and what I did. The people who praised me at the time or who were disgusted by me. Might as well stare into that glass. Might as well look into this mirror. I was going back to my old school district. I would have to face the old me that everyone would remember.
Whether I was ready to face that or not.
"The bus get here at six thirty, Ora!" my dad said from the hallway.
"Ight!"
I grabbed my clothes I had sat out the night before: some pale brown cargo shorts and a black crew neck sweatshirt, thick black socks, black Ethikas, and a simple sports bra. I finished getting ready in the bathroom, leaving out with my skin washed and my shoulder length hair down over my face.
I pulled on my clothes and slipped on my black Crocs, flipping them outta sports mode and going over to my phone and cell phone charger. I took it out the wall and threw both into my bag along with my AirPods before I left my room. It was about nine minutes before my bus was supposed to show, so I went to the kitchen to warm me up something in the microwave before I left.
I got one of those pancake sausage things out and let it go on defrost after I pressed the button.
"You gon be good, right?" my dad asked me, coming around the corner and holding his hand out.
I awkwardly shook it, not knowing what to expect.
"Yeah."
"You be good. Make me proud over there, Ora," he slapped me on the back, pulling me in for a hug.
"I'm scared," a moment of weakness on my part.
He squeezed my shoulder tightly, almost too tight, forcing me to look into his eyes. His face might as well had been my own, even though everyone told me I resembled my mom. "She would be proud of you, baby."
