Cease-fire was maybe too strong a word; they hadn't been at war, really, had they? But there was peace anyway, kind of. They could talk and laugh. At times, Carl even asked things. There was no more pushing, no more unannounced entering, grabbing, kissing. Ariel wasn't dragged to dubious parties anymore -- not without being asked first. But there were always these eggshells lying around, forcing them to walk cautiously and to think twice before talking. Carl wasn't home much, anyway, always rehearsing the play and things, Ariel guessed. She herself had found back to her time-honored escape route: studying. Then the play's premiere day came along, and Ariel was invited. Carl surprised her by handing over a dress and begging her to wear it. It was thin, sky blue with a white flower print and it was long and slinky, a gown, really. It had a rather low front and no back at all.
"I can't wear this, are you crazy?" she cried out, throwing it back. Carl caught the slithering fabric.
"But you have to," she said. "It's mandatory. Men must wear a suit, women evening dresses. And as you don't have any dresses, I got you one. You won't get in without it." Ariel huffed.
"Then I won't come at all," she said. "Find someone else. Someone who can wear it, someone with hips and tits." Carl grinned nervously, looking down at the dress.
"Big tits would fall out," she said. "You'd look superhot in it, believe me, classy chic." Ariel groaned, then she turned around and shut the door to her bedroom with a bang.
"Ah, fuck, Ari!" she heard Carl cry out, her voice muffled by the wood. Fuck indeed, she thought, feeling tears prick behind her eyes. She fell forward on her bed. Was it a complot? Was really everyone in on the joke? Nationwide? Time went by until she heard a rustling sound through the door. Fingers tapped on the panel.
"I'm off," Carl said. "Wish me luck, party poop!" Ariel mumbled 'luck', raising her face off the moist pillow. She sat up, listening until she heard the front door closing. Pouring a glass of cold water in the kitchen, she saw the blue dress hanging from Carl's bedroom door. It shimmered softly. It was beautiful. Below it stood a pair of sky-blue heels, rather high heels. She wanted to feel anger, wasn't that what she was supposed to feel? It sure was what she was best at whenever people toyed with her like this. Damn, Carl, she thought as she put the glass down and walked over to the dress. You went really overboard just to fuck with me: buying a dress, even shoes. Imagine the time, the cost, and all this for a practical joke? Maybe she'd borrowed them? Maybe it was a costume from the theater. It felt new, though. Its fabric slithered through her fingers. It must look sexy as hell, moving and swaying on the right body. She sank her nose into the silk, inhaling. A face with a crooked smile flashed in her mind. She shook her head violently; this was all so cruel.
She let the fabric fall from her hands and went back to her room, sitting down to pour over her books.
Thoughts entered her mind as she tried to study; they had nothing to do with the words she couldn't read anyway. The thoughts started with one little question: what if... What if the stupid girl really wanted her at the theater? The girl who gave her this room for peanuts. Wouldn't it be beyond rude not to show up, just because she was too chicken to wear the dress? Why travel from one coast to the other if it's just traveling from one lonesome room to another, from one schoolbook to another? She wasn't stupid, was she? She had a brain, and it told her things. It told her she might as well go back home if this was what her life ended up being here. Why travel the world if you carry your prison with you? A scream of frustration echoed from the walls. Her brain was right, she knew. But it was only a brain, wasn't it? And a brain isn't worth much in an ugly body. People don't care about brains. They make up their opinion of someone in the first few seconds they meet. Dressing up wouldn't help, it would make it worse. They'd laugh their head off. Look! they would scream, pointing and hiccupping with laughter: the scrawny pig wears make up!
But what about Carl? She was ugly as hell herself, but she didn't seem to mind, did she? Then again, she was a lesbian, easy for her to talk. Maybe that was why she was an actress? Wearing masks and things? Her mind went in circles that seemed to get tighter and tighter around questions like not and why not, solutions like now or never or god, why am I so afraid? I don't even know these people, do I? She had to get out, break the chain. Wasn't that why she came all the way over here? To be free? Disgusted, she pushed back her chair, making it screech on the floor.
The dress was still there, of course, hanging innocently from its hanger. Tauntingly. Tauntingly? Surprised by the word, Ariel stepped closer, her hands making the blue-and-white fabric slide off the hanger. She might try it on. Why not? There was nobody here, nobody to laugh. She didn't have to go out in it, did she? She could wear it in her room. She had this thin white top with the scooped neck to wear under it, maybe? Might make it less ridiculous.
Standing in front of the tall mirror that had already been there when she arrived, she watched her pale body, only wearing white panties. It had been a while since she'd forced herself to look as closely as this; she didn't see anything new. She could as well be a boy with those bony shoulders, no hips to speak off, spindly legs and nipples for tits. Just a boy, wasn't she, except for those damn cow's eyes and swollen lips on an obscenely wide mouth.
She slid the white top over her head. Then she shook her head and pulled it up and off again. Why cheat in her own room? She picked up the dress and let it tumble down her naked body, keeping her eyes shut. The feeling was incredible; the silk caressed her skin and caused her to shiver. It reminded her of a gray satin blouse, which reminded her of blue eyes under a blond shock of hair, strong hands, a kiss... Her eyes flew open. One second, two seconds of seeing herself in a mirror, and she closed them again, hurriedly, tightly. But the image didn't go. The image of a deer in the headlights. The huge eyes of a grown-up child, all bones, disjointed, awkward. And yet... yet.
She opened her eyes again, forcing them to look at the creature in the mirror. She moved her hips left and right, making the dress flow and rustle. She turned halfway round, looking over her shoulder, watching her long bare back. Remembering all those fashion pictures in all those magazines, she placed a hand on her bony hip and pushed it out. She pouted, looking up from under her bangs. She raised her arm, putting a hand in her neck, shaking her hips, waiting for the familiar voice, the little nagging, sarcastic voice. It didn't come. There was only a rush of blood pounding in her ears as she watched and watched the creature sway. Finally, she realized she'd arrived at a moment of decision, one she could no longer walk away from. She either had to take a step forward or backward. Either take the plunge or forever be a scared nobody, returning home and withering away.
Staring into the patient mirror, her eyes met with their huge, wide reflection while familiar panic churned at the back of her mind. She tried to find back to old techniques like putting things in perspective, stripping them of dramatic exaggeration. Decision time, really? Oh, come on, girl, be real. You can very well stay here and be content with your little, lonely place of comfort. So many girls do, don't they? You've done it all the time.
