Our Contract of Distrust

-- 44 --

I learnt something today.

Getting your eyebrows done is not particularly enjoyable.

They look significantly less like spiky caterpillars now, but the lovely little red boxes framed them for a whole hour, maybe longer.

I hadn't intended to get manicured or primped and primed really. I just wanted a haircut. Needed a change.

Needed to feel like I wasn't still that girl from the lab.

Tied down. Helpless. Tainted.

I didn't know how to properly articulate the sentiment to Trin, but somehow she concluded that a trip to the salon was what I was after.

It all started when I saw Henry in a shop.

Well, I can't say for certain that it was him. But the reaction was more instinctual than conscious. So I'm sure I must have recognised him.

That subconscious part of my brain constantly in overdrive flicked up the red flags and blasted the sirens.

I found myself hiding behind the nearest shelves before I'd even really processed what was going on. Before the thought 'it's Henry' even crossed my mind.

At least my body went into flight mode this time and I didn't try to pounce on anyone. I think awkwardly bracing, heart pounding, gathering a few odd glances from passers-by, is the infinitely better of the options.

He didn't see me. I think. I hope.

I peered around the corner to watch him slide a large bottle of milk and some tissues along the counter and remark something at his companion. I watched him swipe his handphone to pay. I Slipped back into the aisle and fake-browsed items as he passed by and out through the automatic doors which I continued to stare down until another customer entered, made eye-contact with me, frowned and arched a brow in question.

And then I stared blankly at cans of tinned fruit once more as I thought that he would have recognised me easily enough, had he actually seen me. I surely looked exactly the same - dirty blonde hair with split ends, sunken green eyes, perpetually un-sun-kissed skin, and a lanky frame drowned in baggy garb. I wasn't a Peggy that resembled those amicable composites of numerous superimposed faces.

I was still just that gaunt 'kid' who didn't know how to present herself.

I called Trin right then actually. While my hand shook and my eyes traced absently over 'pineapple pieces' and 'peaches in syrup'.

I don't know what unintelligible garbage I muttered, or how Trin as always was able to decipher it. I don't even remember telling her where I was, yet she'd turned up in front of me, leading me around by the elbow as she tracked down the items on my badly scrawled list.

Thinking back, she must have even paid for it. I ought to pay her back, though it's unlikely she'll let me.

She took me back home. Made me tea. And dinner. And told me she'd booked an appointment for us at a local salon on Saturday.

I don't think I was properly in shock all that time, it was just a break. From everything. From trying to run a life that felt futile and messed up.

Trin had always seemed better at that. Feodor too. I wonder what their secret is?

Is it the sort of thing one even has an awareness of to be able to articulate?

I found myself staring into the mirror the rest of the week. Trying to determine what I ought to change, how I might disguise myself.