I twirl one earphone string around my forefinger as I wait patiently for my friend to try on a dress she’s hoping will accent her figure enough to entice some “cute and funny and oh he’s just so great” guy she’s recently met. Some singer’s melodic voice plays into my right ear, and the other ear listens intently for the sound of my friend’s voice, should it come.
I remember when I, too, believed a dress could win a heart. (Or, well, in her case, perhaps nothing quite so romantic yet.) Blue, it was. Baby blue like my eyes. And then black, like the darkness it thrust me into. Stained.
That relationship was one I’d waited a long time to sink into, and one that dried up before I could grasp that I’d sunk beneath the surface.
My friend practically twirled out of the dressing room in a way that let me know she had found the one. The twinkle in her eye only gave credit to my observation. And the black of the dress she wore seemed to gaze into my soul, pulling a smile across my wan face.