How it Happened

Thirteen

Thirteen

49 days until the wedding

I wonder if this is how mannequins feel. Stripped bare of who they are, replaced with who they should be, and only for a little while for everyone to see. Then they're stripped again and changed to appeal to the next ideal.

Or maybe more like zoo animals. Placed on a pedestal and gawked at like they're foreign when they were technically here first. Flashing cameras capture wide eyes as they remain frozen in fear and wish to crawl back under the rock they reluctantly call home.

After twenty-two years of life, I like to believe it takes a lot of effort to make me feel like I'm five again, but that's a lie. Although I occasionally pride myself in my five-year-old state of mind, I prefer not to feel like a child, and despise being treated like one.

Yet sometimes all it takes is someone to look at you wrong and suddenly, you're five years old again, but not in the endearing care free kind of way. Instead, in that scrutinized and completely chastised kind of way.

Of course, how harsh the blow is to my already staggering confidence depends on the situation. Most of the time it's easy to brush off once it's over and done with. The problem is, when you're stuck standing within that seemingly demeaning moment of time. It can feel like an eternity.

You would think I was standing on this pedestal for all of eternity from the way my legs continue to sway and wobble, but instead it's only been a few minutes. A few seemingly endless minutes as I'm gawked at by those below.

I'm not standing alone, though. Sasha stands beside me and Brenna beside her, but I'm alone in the sense that I feel like a zoo animal standing amongst a bunch of mannequins.

Any color compliments Sasha's mocha skin tone and any dress shape hugs Brenna's pear-shaped figure. I, on the other hand, look pale, frail, and completely idiotic as I drown in the material like a five-year-old would with their parent's clothes.

"I don't know how I feel..." Aubrey's lips form a thin line as she assesses us. Although I know she's commenting on the styles of the sample bridesmaid's dresses, I can't help but worry that her lack of choice has something to do with me.

I'm the odd one out. I always have been. I've always embraced it, thrived in it, loved it. Just little moments like these make me question the entity. Even after all this time.

"Do you want me to help you find something shorter?" the sales clerk suggests.

My sister's eyes meet mine for a split second before she shakes her head. "No, I've always kind of pictured long bridesmaid's dresses." Her lips move from side to side as her eyes continue to dance around us.

"We can always keep looking." My mom is the next one to suggest. "You don't have to decide today."

"But with alterations and stuff, I'm afraid..." Aubrey trails off before she catches my mom's gaze and they continue to discuss options, but I stop listening as my gaze flitters around for a clock.

The action is probably futile since the expansion of technology has made most formal clocks nonexistent. Most people now carry them around in their pockets on their cell phones, but my eyes continue to dart around since I need to be at work in a few hours. Only when I find my eyes meeting walls, dresses, and then eventually lock eyes with my seemingly curtain draped self in the large mirror, do I finally make a move to step off the platform. I take not even one full step to my right before the satin dress gets caught underneath my sock covered foot and the top of it slips away from my chest. For a split second, my left light pink bra covered boob makes it appearance to the world before I'm immediately yanking the material back up.