a dance with cancer

seventeen

Valentina Karas

"What the fuck do we have here?"

I pinch myself to confirm I'm not hallucinating the ridiculously long line in front of the boutique. An assortment of predominantly teenage girl shoppers stand in front of us, waiting for the door to open. Some are joined by their moms while others look like they're shopping with a friend group. 

Where I live, dances are serious business. It makes students lose their marbles: guys have to worry about finding dates while girls search for the dress like a rare jewel. Every year, stores say they're ready to handle school dance season and the influx of stressed teenage girls who tirelessly search every store in town hits the workers like an unprovoked tornado. Even though guys rarely approach me, I manage to enjoy dancing with my friends. 

The line goes by fast. Before shoppers disperse into different corners of the quaint store, they receive a welcoming smile from an employee inside. Workers are distributed throughout, happily helping out customers and putting in their professional two cents. The boutique's claim to fame is its unique merchandise people have to take out a second mortgage to be able to buy. None of it would happen without its workers, known for being attentive and excited to help you.

I don't shop at Begonia's often but when I do, the customer service is hit or miss. No one's blatantly rude to me, but I don't hear them making snide comments about their thinner customers. Sometimes the workers forget they have to be nice to me and aren't slick about the glares they shoot my way. Their clothes are cute, but you have to be on Ozempic to fit into them. 

My small friends find three or four dresses they like right off the bat without having to double check the size. On the other hand, I get my feelings hurt when a dress that might be a contender doesn't run bigger than a medium. 

There's already a six person deep line for the fitting rooms as people excitedly show off their picks. Girls my age hold a stack of the drop dead gorgeous Homecoming dresses Begonia's is known for, but older customers opt for tops and other clothing since they are a few decades too old for high school dances.

Out of all of the racks of dresses, tops, and more, only a quarter of their merchandise fits me. Almost everything is a tight squeeze and I have to sacrifice breathing properly for something to wear. At a size fourteen, I wear the largest size they sell and can't imagine how alienated bigger women feel.

A flash of red wine colored fabric catches my eye. I immediately get curious; I always knew my senior prom dress would be the elegant and sultry color, so maybe it's a sign. Rather than regular spaghetti straps, the sleeves are ribbons tied like they're meant for Christmas presents. I can tell it hugs every part of the wearer's body. It's a little shorter than I'm comfortable with, but it's pretty. I search for one in my size, lucking out when a tag on one of them reads XL. 

My friends are in line for the fitting rooms with dresses of their own. They found several at the same time it took me to search for one I like that actually fits. I glance around the boutique, my impatience starting to get the best of me. The pressure to find the perfect dress is building, and I don't want to leave empty-handed.

"Everything ok, V?" Katelyn calls over, noticing my distress.

I shoot her a soft smile, praying my stress doesn't show on my face. Her perceptive expression lets me know I'm not hiding my nerves as well as I think I am, but she drops it and chats with Layla and Riley.

My eyes scan the racks for something as stunning as the red dress, but my luck only lasted for so long. Not finding anything my size slowly eats away at my patience. A few nearby workers stop what they're doing to not so subtly gawk at the big girl in their store.