If Only...

FULL OF BEANS

Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that I would articulate these words together, and moreover in this particular order while I'm still sane:

Stella was so right.

The dress I'm wearing right now is perfect. There is no denying that. She certainly had an eye out for the. . .gratifying outfits. But like anything in life, there are limitations to that.

But I'm sure I would've made another choice right in the dress store had I doubted my decision--I had been quite a different person back then, actually bothering about what people might think of me when I dress this way--

"Ah, what the hell!"

I throw my hands in the air in defeat. Nothing was going to bring me down today. I know for a fact that I am not going to be the only one today wearing a short and somewhat revealing dress--but maybe I should let Danny decide that.

Oh, give it a rest. It's not so bad.

I hear Stella's voice in my head and I stand up straighter.

Maybe she's right about this too. I can pull this off. Besides, I don't think I'll be noticing much, what with so many vaguely familiar faces around me. Somehow, my primal fears have left me. I take a deep breath and let it go, watching the glow of pride around me. But then I realize that it's something else entirely.

The sun rays from the window on my right shift along with me, gilting the less exposed and naturally warmth-craving parts of my body, creating a fierce glint in the mirror behind the closet door I'm looking into. I shift the door just slightly to lessen the glint, and I see a new angle of looking at myself.

No doubt, the dress and the haircut are an affable match, and in their togetherness, they have made me look. . . .Well, not as I do everyday.

I suppose purple is my color. I suppose sleeveless is my thing. I suppose the haircut really brought a lift of features in my face. I suppose--Okay, fine. I look pretty. Really pretty. My smug grin can't hide it even from myself.

But I don't roll my eyes at my reflection. Rather, I'm liking the way I look. I sure hope I'll be able to look at all things with this new angle; from a fresh eye when I've got cataracts in the others.

Holy rosemary, I've got four eyes.

I chuckle and watch my reflection's shoulders move slightly. I then quit being a narcissist with a roll of my eyes and turn to probably the only problem for today, which lurks beneath the zipper of the duffel bag.

Today, torture wears black metallic straps and two needle-pointed three-inch swords crafted especially for prologed pain.

Shaking my head, I put on the shoes, and don't trip.

Not immediately, atleast. I am just about to do a test run to the mirror and then assess my appearance completely, when I hear the knock on the door, followed by Danny's muffled voice.

"Hey, Lex. I got you coffee. Are you decent?"

"Um. . ." I call out hesitantly, and I start sweating out of nowhere at the new questions popping in my head like it's popcorn festival. What is he going to say when he sees me? Am I even looking for his approval? Would I change outfits if he said no? Afterall, it is only my mother's and Danny's opinion I trust when it comes to such things.

"What do you think, mom?"

I whisper into the air, but I don't get an answer. Or any normal sound with significance.

Then I look through her eyes into the mirror and I have my answer.

"Yes."

I call out, and don't jump even the slightest when Danny barges in behind me. I don't blame him. I'm eager to see him too. The last twenty minutes have felt incomplete. And besides, Danny's enthusiasm is only limited by my answer. He only cared as long as I was decent.