Taking out the last pin from my hair, letting pretend curls bounce onto my shoulders… it was the work of gravity and my sighing.
I shook out the hairspray and tight, trapped feeling.
I walked to the bathroom, where I undid and loosened the ties of my dress. It fell to the floor, glitter mixing with dust and dirt—glitterdirt, that’s all I’d ever been.
I saw my reflection, eyes still made up.
“Elongate the line—you’ve got such tiny eyes.”
I liked my tiny eyes. I wiped the line to where it smeared across my face. I ran my hands down my tight “flat” body and then unfastened my corset and like a flower, I bloomed into a figured woman.
Oh, I breathed that first breath and I felt like part of me had died.
But I would become alive again, as soon as I stepped into the heat of the shower. The water poured down on my head to wash away every drop of Saturdays and my feet stung from the sores I’d acquired from the high heels and I cried because the relief of being a made-down me was glorious.