Becoming Elliot

Emily Ying sat in her yard, plucking at the grass, spring air blowing her long hair back from her face. She hated it, her hair; she wanted to chop it all off. She hated the dress she was made to wear, the breasts that insisted on being seen, despite extra layers of clothing. Everything about her body made her want to hide.

She'd be more comfortable, she thought, if her hair was shorter, her chest flatter; maybe she'd even like to grow a beard someday. But, Emily Ying was not bold. She was quite sure that she'd look this way until she died.

"Emily!" Her mother called to her from the kitchen window, leaning out of it, hair tied back neatly into a bun. "Come get ready for visitors! Mrs. Plum is bringing her son over, that lovely boy."

Emily rolled her eyes, annoyed. She hated Terrence, the way his eyes never changed when he smiled, how he always articulated his words precisely enough to slice with. However, she got up and went to the house, not wanting to disrespect her mother.

She opened the front door and was greeted with the warm, spicy smell of home cooked stir fry. Her mother made the best, never failing to make it especially good for Mrs. Plum. Anything for Mrs. Plum. And, if not Mrs. Plum, then Mrs. So-and-so or Something-or-other from down the way; they were all interchangeable anyhow. Emily thought her mother too obsessed with appearances, good impressions. She was endlessly sucking up to the neighbors, and it drove Emily to her wits end.

Watching her mom rush to the bathroom to reapply her lipstick, Emily rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she felt like tearing down the facade, showing them the old tablecloth, her father's spare bedsheets for when he was moved to the couch, the cracks in the wallpaper, and announcing, "This is our life! We're no different than the rest of you! We're fucked up, too!" But, Emily Ying was not brave. She walked up the stairs and to her bedroom, and fixed her hair.

Soon afterwards, while she was sitting on her bed, contemplating her impending death-by-dinner plans, Emily's father poked his head into the room. He was a kind man, good hearted, with golden retriever loyalty, but he was, too, a run down man, and years of lack luster life standards had stolen the glow from his eyes. "Hey, Em. How are we?"

"I have to see Terrence again," she sighed, running a hand through the knots in her hair, it being tangled by the wind. "Mother wants us to go out. I disagree on moral grounds."

Her father smiled, hid a chuckle. "It makes her happy, you know. That you do as she says anyways."

Emily rolled her eyes, but smiled a little anyways. Then, as her father rose from the bed, she turned to brush her hair in her pink vanity mirror. For a brief moment, she considered tying it up into a ponytail, slicked straight back, and braiding it. It would have been a conservative hairstyle; a hairstyle meant for industrial, tough girls. But, Emily Ying was not tough. She caressed the long dark strands until they shined, put on her dress, and went downstairs.

Terrence rang the doorbell three times, which annoyed Emily, but she put on her polite lady face and answered the door.

Terrence leaned against the doorway, looking as slippery suave as always; it made Emily want to gag. He smiled and leaned in close, stale cigarette stench staining Emily's new dress. "Hey, baby," he crooned.

Emily frowned at him, moved aside, and allowed him to enter her home. She immediately wished that she hadn't when he sprawled across her sofa as though he owned it.

She stared at him for a few seconds, glanced at his mother, who was lingering in the doorway, then turned to fetch her mother. The woman was still in front of the bathroom mirror, now fixing her hair into a shorter, more public hairstyle. "Mrs. Plum is here."