The quiet presses against my ears in the surrounding darkness, only my sharp breaths and beating heart break the silence. My eyes quickly adjust, soft light streaking through the window casting an eerie glow over the living room furniture. Shakily adjusting my blanket, I scan the room. My mind, plagued by the fear of a dream I refuse to remember, warped the world around me; nothing felt real. The room was exactly the same as when I went to sleep and yet it felt off. The room was cold and dry from the wintry air seeping through the many large windows surrounding me. Dark silhouettes of trees cast long shadows into the room over top of the piles of books sitting on the table behind me. The TV sat in the corner of the room on top of the stand, staring down at me as I lay on the warm couch under my blanket. The piles of stuff we had yet to put away shifted into various shapes; monsters, demons, or animals that had managed to make their way into my apartment. And yet, upon a second glance, there was nothing.
My eyes drift to the kitchen and dining area. Atop the dining room table sat a pile of food and random objects collected over time that we were too lazy to find homes for. Behind the table sat a dress form with a frilly white shirt and a long purple skirt. At a glance, it felt like a person, staring at me, watching me as I lay motionless on the couch. My breath hitches in my throat before I slowly slide off the couch, goosebumps forming on my skin as I step into the cold past papers and cat toys littering the floor as I make my way to the dining area. Taking a deep breath, I approach the dress form. My hand shakes as I carefully place it on the shirt of the mannequin. The form is cold and hard under my hand, the fabrics doing little to ease my mind. I run my hand down to the thick patterned skirt, the fabric smooth along my hands as I brush against the wire frame.
Drifting back in time, a memory pops up. I don’t know why it comes to mind, but I think back to the little dress I got with my mother for Christmas. The top was a soft velvety black material while the skirt had lots of tulle and a lacy floral pattern, silky smooth and yet rough for the designs. I loved that dress and wore it for church, especially Christmas, when I could. I was especially excited because it came with a mini version of the dress for my doll. I remember taking that doll to the Christmas mass with me, both of us dressed in matching clothes with our blonde hair down. Both dresses now belonged to my younger sister.
I think back to only ten years ago, wearing a purple dress to an eighth grade dance with my then boyfriend. My hair was up and I wore pink lipstick. I felt so grown up and beautiful. The cafeteria was cleared out and dark as music pounded around us. We danced and talked with all our friends. Chaperones stood on the other side of tables full of food and snacks and full little trinkets. We enjoyed candy and sodas as the night went on. New couples and old ones slow-danced on the floor. My boyfriend pulled me along as we stood close together, slowly spinning as the song played. He was warm and gentle and my heart fluttered. It was a fun time. None of the high school dances were the same as that one night. I can’t even remember where that dress ended up. I stopped fitting it years ago. It was likely one of my sisters has it now.
To be young again, when I was happier and free. I remember, back when I was only fourteen, a photographer walked around taking pictures for the yearbook and to show at our middle school graduation. I watched him moving, the smile on my face faltering as he came over to us. I covered my hands over my stomach, sucking it in the best I could as he took a picture of me with my boyfriend. I hid behind myself, hoping no one would notice or draw attention to my appearance. I remember wishing I was the happy little girl, long and skinny, dressing up and matching with my dolls.
Staring at the dress form, I move my hand up along the waistline. I glance over the clothes again, rubbing them between my fingers. They’re soft and frilly and so small. I could never fit these types of clothes. The dress form was perfect for my roommate who only wore an adult’s small and could easily fit in whatever she made for herself on this old forming mannequin. But I was not so lucky. I look down at my own baggy clothes hiding the skin underneath. I run my hand along the fabric. It’s just as soft but much thinner and more plain. When did I stop trying to look nice? When did I stop dressing up just for fun? I’m not the little girl I used to be. I’ll never fit in those cute dresses again. If only I didn’t take my figure for granted. I hated myself then and yet, I was worse now.
Letting go of the dress form, I walk past it to my bedroom. Opening the door swiftly, I walk inside, allowing the door to close behind me. I take a left turn to my closets, walking past the dusty bookshelves with all my books and knick-knacks. I flick the switch to turn on the closet light before slowly sliding the door open. Reaching inside, I sift through the fabrics of all the skirts and dresses I own. Rubbing the soft fabrics between my fingers, I slowly shift my hands down to my own body. I run my hands along my stomach, pinching the skin between my fingers. It’s soft and flabby, stretch marks slowly creeping up the sides of my abdomen from the years of growing and changing. Emotions swell as I stare at my own skin underneath my baggy clothes. I bite my lip, holding back tears. I needed rest, my mind was tired and foggy and it was time to sleep. Tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow, I can get some exercise. Tomorrow, I can be sure to eat more greens. Tomorrow, I can focus on making myself feel a little more comfortable in my own skin.
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