The POPSTAR that got away

Diane's exentricities

Diane guides us to our apartment. She has been attending this school since she was little because her mum works here, so she has the whole place memorized. "I can't believe you have been here for two years and you don't know where to find places," she says to Shakill.

Shakill looks offended but doesn't say a word.

Our apartment is located on a lonely pathway in front of a lake. It is more quiet and private than the accomodations in the center of the village.

Diane takes the door keys from Shakill's hands and then shoves us inside.

"So, Shakill, take out makeup and dresses and gently share them. You guys can unpack tomorrow. Let's hurry up and get ready now".

"Herm, I don't really have make up, or dresses" says Shakill in her usual inaudible tone.

What a beautiful memory. One of those I didn't need the Forest to remember.

"You don't have dresses then what do you call that thing you are wearing...?" says Diane before trailing off while eyeing Shakill up and down. Shakill is wearing something that looks like her great grandma's skirt with a shirt on top whose colors vigorously punch the skirt's ones each time they see each other.

Shakill crosses her arms in a clear attempt to hide her shirt.

"You are never to be allowed to wear those again" she states. "Unless you actually like them, but like, really like them".

"Now Deity," she looks at me up and down. "Show us your clothes". She says, beaming up.

My dad didn't allow me to go to parties. Or to buy dresses.

But luckily my mum owned dresses that made her look like she was the main character of stories that deserved to be told. She sewed most of them herself, which made them unique. One of a kind. As she was.

I hid a box of her things in my new room in my dad's house. I had to be careful with it because if my dad or Vanessa had found it they would have literally exploded into a human soup of projectiles the way they exploded whenever they noticed me and Gio existed.

I go stand next to my luggage that to everyone's surprise right now looks much bigger than it did before. I make a grand gesture with my hand encompassing the full length of the luggage that now seemed to have grown in size a little more.

I open the luggage and the dresses are shining, each in a different mesmerizing color, and each one of them seems to have taken a life of its own.

"So are these dresses of your taste ladies?" I smirk.

Diane and Shakill's eyes are sparkling.

We begin to try on these dresses, each one of which belonged to great women in history. There is the one that Cleopatra used to seduce Marc Antonio. The favourite one of Hellen of Troy. And even the one Marie Curie used to put on between an experiment and another, when she wanted to relax.

Somehow Shakill manages to pick up the only ugly dress that was in that luggage. It's black and tight and plain. Diane laughs when she sees what Shakill has chosen. She glances at me and I am about to follow suit but I am stopped by the sight of Shakill with the dress on.

Somehow it feels like when my mum sewed it a long time ago she did it with Shakill's body proportions in mind. It hugs Shakill's extra thin physique and makes her look both smart and sexy.

"Wow" says Diane. "Yeah, wow" I say.

"Is there some of this magic for me too?" she asks looking at the dresses to find one for herself.

She handles the clothes as if they are priceless relics from another time. "No need to be so careful handling them" I say elbowing her. But that doesn't help her visible anxiety at touching them. "I just don't want to break the fabric or something, they look expensive" she says. "They are not". I assure her. "You see, the little money my mum made was by selling clothes in this vintage store she owned. It was called the lonely star. People would stand in line to donate their most expensive, luxurious and unique clothes there because the place looked like an enchanted museum or a forgotten movie set. She would have made a fortune if she had actually sold any of the clothes but she never did. She only rented them. And not even often. People had to giver her a detailed explanation for what occasion they wanted to wear the clothes for. And if she thought the occasion wasn't special enough, she wouldn't lend the dress. That shop was a mini paradise and I spent my youth in it".

"Wow that's amazing! You are so lucky!" hollers Diane. Shakill is silent, but her eyes betray a hint of jealousy. I don't mention that what I just told is only half of what my mum was. This was her good side. I used to only see her bad side when I was living with her, or when I was living with dad. But here, amongst my new friends in this magical place, it's easy to remember the good parts. 

How do I look?" asks Diane pirouetting in the dress she has picked. It's a yellow dress that makes her look like the perfect daughter of Hillary Clinton and Princess Diane, sort of ruthless businesslike and dreamlike fairytale. "Like a kickass princess" I remar. "A truly beautiful one" I add.

"Now you pick something" says Shakill, impatiently.

I pick up a pink dress that is quite plain but gorgeous in fabric. "No no no no try out this one" Shakill and Diane say at the same time.

"Oh nice so you picked something that you think will look awesome on me" I say turning around. But as soon as I see what they hold in their hands I feel my heart starts racing fast and the blood reverse route around my body as if it suddenly forgot which ones way it's supposed to circulate.

"It looks like the all galaxy was contained in this single dress" says Diane. 

"It looks exactly like the stars you can see from the school's planetarium at this time of the year" says Shakill, perplexed. 

"She doesn't know her way around the village but she has the night sky memorized" laughs Diane "Now I understand why you are at this shool".

  "It looks so you" they say in unison.

I feel like I have been caught. They know what I did that night to my mother, and now they will not want to be my friends anymore. Panic surges all over my veins. I want to leave the room and never see them again. "I can't wear this one" I say, my voice shaking. "Why not?" they ask.

And if they ask, it means that they know. They know what I did. And even if they don't once I'll tell them they'll hate me. So I can't tell them.

"It's just not my size" I say and the only excuse that doesn't require me to say the truth. "Try it on anyways" they insist.

I start putting it on. But I know it will never fit me because my mum was lean and tall and I am shorter and rounder at my hips and breasts. There is no way it could fit me if it fit her.

But it does fit. Perfectly well.

"Wow" they both say, marvelled.

I look in the mirror. And I am astonished too. Because the person on the other side isn't me. It's her.

Feeling guilty yet?