The next day was a rainy day. It gave Selma a wave of anxiety for she feared that it would rain on her wedding day. But the rainy day actually made me happy because it meant that Shawn and I could spend the day together in my room.
The two of us sat down on the floor of my room and looked through some of my old things. I had a big shoe box filled with photographs that we both looked at. Shawn held up a square Polaroid film and smiled to himself.
"Are these your parents?" He asked me. He turns the picture so I can see and I smile while nodding.
"That's the day that they met." I confirm. My father sat on top of a kitchen counter, a glass of something in his hand and he started lovingly at my mother. She was in a white dress and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling so wide her eyes were almost shut.
"Your dad was telling me about that day on the plane. You were asleep," he says and places the picture in the pile of photos we had already looked at.
Shawn picked up the next photo and let out a little scoff. "Aw, is this you?"
My cheeks go hot as he shows me the photo: I'm around four years old in the picture and my curly hair was in a two pig tails as I had my jaw open and my hands in the air...exposing my bare stomach and chest while I had a tutu around my waist.
"Oh my god!" I say as I try to swipe at the photo. Shawn holds it back and looks at it and laughs.
"I completely forgot about that picture! Oh, my god!" I laugh. "Stop looking at it! I'm half naked!"
"Nothing I haven't seen before." He jokes. "What the hell were you doing in this picture anyways?"
"I was getting ready for a bath." I say.
"Why the tutu?"
"I was obsessed with tutus, okay?"
"Aw, my little ballerina." Shawn playfully pours his bottom lip and I give him the middle finger. "Wait a minute, you had curly hair?"
"I have curly hair." I reply.
"Then how come your hair is always straight?"
"I use a conditioner that keeps my hair straight. My abuelita send me about three bottles a month from Colombia. It's kinda small, so I'm always running out."
"Leave your hair natural, I wanna see it."
"I'm gonna for the wedding."
"When's your next shower? I'm hiding the damn bottle."
The rain hit the glass of the windows a little harder and made the room feel cozy. I picked up a photograph from the box and smiled at the memory. "This was my pageant picture." I stand on the stage with the pink bouquet of roses in one hand, a crown on my head, and I waved with the other hand. I smiled big and my braces were on display. My hair was straight and down to the back of my white dress.
"Didn't you win that thing?" He asks me.
"Yeah. My talent was music."
"You sing?"
"No, I suck. I played the piano."
"What song?"
"It was La Vie en Rose."
I hand him the photo and he looks at it. He studied the picture and then flicked his eyes to me and back at the photo in his hands. "Can I keep this?"
"Of all pictures, you want to keep that one?"
"Yeah. Or would you rather me keep your first nude?" He asked, causing me to laugh.
