Finished that story i wrote a while back
I twisted my fingers under my puffy bleach white jacket, my white press on nails holding on for dear life as I bent them this way and that. Eyes darting back and forth nervously across the scarcely decorated gray office Iâd been dragged to. I sat beside my mother on one of four short gray cushioned chairs against the back wall of a tiny square waiting room covered in inspirational art, like concrete gray wallpaper and a gray glass coffee table scattered with celebrity âLose Weight Quickâ magazines, the only spot of color in the room.
My father was standing at the counter, talking to a short, plumb, young lady through a thick shield of glass. His olive green suit freshly pressed, dark hair combed back neat and tidy with the help of over a dozen hair products, polished black dress shoes, freshly shaved face, picture perfect business man. My mother was sitting stiffly next to me, hands clasped over her black leather purse. Honey brown hair curled and pinned up like they used to in the 50s, makeup subtle with neutral tones and a soft mauve lipstick, crisp gray blazer with a dark pencil skirt and olive green ascot and earrings, picture perfect partner.
I clicked my black flats together, white painted toes peeking out in the front. A long strand of my ginger hair fell across my face, I pushed it behind my ear. Olive green dress to fit in, but donât eat the day before because, âMinuette you look disgusting in that color and it makes your stomach look much too round. You need to make sacrifices to keep up our imageâ.
Minuette isnât my real name, and ginger isnât my real hair color. Iâm adopted and my real name is Blair. But Blair means âplainâ in Scotish and mouse brown is much too ordinary a color, so my parents insist I always address myself as Minuette, âSmall and dainty like a lady should be''. Dye my hair red to âlook less boringâ. Change my whole identity so everyone would forget Iâm the child of my fathers disowned, incriminated, heroin addicted burnout of a brother.
A young blonde haired boy in an itchy looking green sweater vest about my age walked past the window, looking as bored as I. As he glanced through the glass lazily I felt the tiny pinch of my moms acrylics against my forearm. I sat up quickly. Spine straight, chine down, legs crossed at the ankle, slight smile, but make sure you donât overdo it. I settled into my momâs âPerfect formatâ, feeling the boyâs gaze graze over the room before moving on. I sat back in my chair. Being perfect is exhausting.
âMinuette, this is our new consultant, Miss Aubery.â My dad said, turning back to me, smile just like his hair, fake.
âNice to meet you Miss.â I stood up to say hello, and the world spun drunkenly for a moment. I grasped her hand tightly for stability, when my stomach let out a large growl. Time froze for a moment and our faces flooded with color cartoonishly. My face flushed pink, my fatherâs red and my motherâs white. Embarrassed and humiliated, I let go of her hand and sat down quickly onto the understuffed gray waiting chair, wiping my hand against the seat like it was diseased. I fought to hold back my tears, beating them back like they were rats, toads or some other disgusting yet overwhelming creature.
âSweetie, are you hungry?â The lady asked, warm brown eyes peppered with concern.
âSheâs fine.â My mother interjected. âYou know teenagers, always skipping breakfast.â Her words hung in the air, silently at first. A moment too late, the adults laughed awkwardly for my motherâs benefit while I sat there, jaw clenched, stewing in my humiliation.
âWell here, have a lollipop.â She said kindly, taking one off her desk. A red one, I bet it's cherry, my favorite. I havenât been allowed to eat candy since I was 9 years old but I can picture itâs flavor perfectly. Tart and sugary, the artificial fruit taste coating my hypothetical senses. Some sort of high ran through my body, electrifying. I reached out for it when my father grabbed my arm in disarray.
âSweetie you canât. We donât have an insulin shot for you!â
âOh! I am so, so sorry, youâre diabetic?â Miss Aubrey asked, looking embarrassed as if sheâd offended me. Iâm not, but I forced a nod for I could feel my motherâs stare drilling into the back of my head. Miss Aubrey apologized, and my parents quickly changed the subject while saying that they should start the meeting by now.
âWeâll be out in 5 minutes⊠Darlingâ My mother said with a look that told me I would be punished later. I nodded at the slamming gray door. I sunk into the chair once again, letting my tears flow down my cheeks silently.
My stomach kept growling. Just donât think about it. I put my fingers around my wrist, making sure they could touch. Then my upper arm, then my thigh. God I hate my legs. I look at my reflection in the window. I wonder what others wouldâve seen, sunken in eyes, shallow face, but all I could see was all the things my parents pointed out as Iâd done my makeup. Your cheeks are too round, your jaw isnât sharp enough, your lips are too small, your nose is too big. Do better.
My stomach let out another rumble. I was starving. I looked at the lollipops on Miss Aubreyâs desk. I had maybe two minutes. Donât do it, itâll make you gain weight. Itâs just a lollipop. Itâll lead to more. No, Iâll just have one. You know if you go down that path again youâll get uncontrollable. You know I saved you. You know Iâm right.
I stood up with hesitation, wobbling slightly as the world shifted. Slowly walking across the room. Donât you dare! I reached towards the jar, pulling out a bright red lollipop, fiddling with it between my fingers. No one will love you if you let yourself go! I could hear my parents meeting finishing up. You canât eat in front of them! That's disgusting! I slowly unwrapped the candy, the cellophane wrapper crinkling in my hands, my body starting to tremble. No one will love you if they see you like this. I held it in front of my face, breathing in the scent of sugar and cherry flavoring. jaw quivering. Fat tears rolled down my face as I stared down the candy.
The room around me slowed and wavered, darkness glimmering at the edge of my vision. I felt my legs start to buckle as the air in my chest grew short. Are you really going to give me up for a lollipop? The door began to squeak open. I hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud, trying to stand up to say I was fine, but my body was like sandbags, weighing me down. The roomâs sharp edges softened and the speech of the adults muffled and slurred as time seemed to freeze to a stop. All I could see was that damn complimentary lollipop before everything faded from view.
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