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The Dress<br />
IRENE MEKLIN<br />
She twirls around in front of the mirror, laughing as the<br />
colors blend into a colorful blur. Her hair is cut short, too short<br />
to move when she twirls, but in her mind’s eye it is a long silky<br />
wave that swings around with every step she takes. She stops<br />
twirling for a moment and gazes at herself in the mirror, feeling<br />
the happiest she’s felt in a long time. She goes over to her<br />
mother’s nightstand and opens it, gazing in wonder at the<br />
treasure inside: makeup. She gently tugs a tube of scarlet red<br />
lipstick out of the drawer, making sure to make no sound. She<br />
wonders how she’d look with it on, and struts over to the mirror,<br />
lipstick clutched in her chubby fingers. She unscrews the cap and<br />
paints some of it onto her lips, her smile so wide that the lipstick<br />
stains her teeth red. She wonders if she should go try some<br />
mascara when her mother storms in, in all her glory, and begins<br />
to yell.<br />
“What are you doing here?” She screams at the cowering girl.<br />
“And what is it that you have on—my dress? My lipstick?” She<br />
stalks over to her and rips off the oversized dress that does not<br />
seem so colorful anymore, instead turning gray and sad as the girl<br />
begins to cry. “No son of mine would…” The girl flinches at the<br />
dreaded word, and the mother’s tone softens. “Go put on some<br />
clothes, Ray.” The girl scurries out of the room, sobbing to<br />
herself. The mother soon follows, casting a last look at the havoc<br />
within, sighs, and closes the door behind her.<br />
The once-beautiful dress sits on the floor, torn, forlorn,<br />
dreaming of some day.<br />
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