Fly – a novel.
France was putting away some of her old stuff for charity. It was then she found a familiar journal. She had been rummaging through her things since early morning so she figured she deserved to take a rest from all the clutter for a while. She sat beside her window with her old diary on her hands and started reading.
Gray clouds lying overcast and choking rumbles of thunder gave way to the first indicative drops of another desperate outpour. A week had passed since the first official rainstorm struck the country and abashed citizens and tourists carry on with seeking shelter whenever the uninvited occasional rains pay annoying visits to the locality.
I wasn’t really looking forward to fitting my skinny body into the mint-colored sleeveless gown that my elder sister had worn during her junior prom, which to mention, seemed like Bluto’s enormous garment hanging loosely on Julie Carpenter. Not to add the embarrassing fact that I had to stand up with my back slightly hunched and my head leaning to a side just because the photo studio where I had my prom pictures taken had a ceiling which couldn’t accommodate my head. At least it allowed my neck to be caught on camera, though. That thing about my height didn’t totally sink my morale though, for the so-called professional photographer had asked me if I wanted to be recruited as a model. I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit my yearning for dawning stardom, but I grew much too shy to have managed to drop that opportunity to be recognized in something that an ordinary teenage girl would deeply covet. Meaning, I said no.
Much to my dismay, the sudden outburst of what I would not call “holy tears” from Heaven at that moment, was the hardest beat of bad luck that had seemed to follow me around all day like a sickening little puppy.
Partly hopeful to get my face straightened out with a casual normal-day-no-big-deal smile, I began to pick my ugly-colored gown up while I struggled to step out of my friend’s old jeep as elegantly poised as I possibly could. If I had known all along that what my dear old friend was offering was a drive from her lopsided-smile, aggressive old man, then I could have spared myself and two of my other unknowing pals, the shock of watching in grave horror as our lives whizzed by the chilly air that seemed to be the only force surrounding the speedy vehicle being run by a road maniac for like a bazillion miles per second. Fortunately, Mr. Easy-going wasn’t enrolled in a car-crash-for-fun driving school so he was spared of being punished in court for driving under the influence of HIMSELF.
I eventually managed to pull myself free from the seatbelt that hugged me all throughout the nerve-wrecking ride from hell, and light-headedly staggered to my feet. The feel of cold water splattering from the ground to my naked sandal-slipped feet was enough to give me an enormous sigh, but at least I felt better getting my tootsies wet than not having a chance to take another look at myself alive and irritated any longer.
It took a few giant steps to get me to the covered hallway. My friends had already gone inside the main hall to join the rest of our classmates who arrived earlier than we did. It took a few seconds to check my hair, which was sticking out all over the place due to our terrifying ordeal a while back, and to straighten my dress, the one which I could barely take pride of after I caught sight of the extravagant display of shimmering ball gowns worn by countless girls scattered across the chandelier-lit room.
I felt my cheeks turn scarlet as I raised my hand a little higher, so as to allow one of the ushers wearing a gallant tuxedo, to tie the strap of a corsage around my wrist. It wasn’t only because I felt self-conscious as the ushers roamed their surveying eyes from my head to my toes, but also because the guy tying the lace around my wrist had to allow me to finish tying it myself because I was uncontrollably shivering from the cold.
Reluctantly, I entered the grand venue. No one noticed my entrance because everybody was busy flustering about what the “worthy” girls had worn. In addition to my wrist watch, the only accessory decorated around my body was a pair of loop studs that I had forgotten to replace with brand new ones. My head sticking out, I looked around for any sign of my friends. I caught them sitting beside the other girls, with an extra seat reserved for me to sit on. I joined the group and we chatted for a while as we waited for the arrival of the night’s fabulous menu.
Not long after the tables were cleared and the stools set aside to give way to the dance floor, I felt something was terribly wrong. At first, I couldn’t make out if it was just all in my mind or if it was really happening. I leaned over to my friend. Upon hearing my suspicion, she escorted me to the ladies’ room to confirm it.
Not being able to control my frustration, I let a growl escape my lips. The most unexpected visitor had come to ruin my entire evening! My monthly period had come. And I was on the verge of collapsing.
My friend managed to lure me out of the ladies’ room, convincing me that a few hours of feigned enjoyment wouldn’t hurt. But the more I stayed stuck to my seat watching others shake their bonbons, the more I felt mad at myself for not taking precautions.
It was terrible that no one would dare ask me to dance probably because the words, DON’T DARE COME NEAR ME stretched across my face, but it was even more terrible to sit there like an abandoned imbecile, passing time. All I could do was pray for a miracle. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar figure standing by the doorway. We took off and he – believe it or not – asked for my hand that fateful night.
If I had known she’d be there too, I would not have gone to that party. He asked me to come, saying his mom was expecting me to be there so I arrived in style just as usual. But holy cow, she took center stage when she came in late wearing anything but clothes. Okay, so maybe I’m overreacting. But a tube dress as tiny as herself isn’t really what I would call as an outfit. If I had worn that piece of crap, I believe it would fit me very well… for a bra! And her stilletos were about five inches high! I admired her courage, though. Can you believe it? She can balance that fat ass of hers on those pointed devils! Anyway, I couldn’t care less. At least he had his eyes on me the entire time! And his mom was, as always, adorable and took care of me every chance she got to. Okay, so she might have carried his last name…for a while. But I’m quite certain she never stole his heart. Maybe a portion of it, though. After all, he married her. Jeez! Up to now, I couldn’t believe he go married to that social climber! Was he drunk? I’m definitely certain he is not blind! It’s not that I’m still in love with him. It’s just that I can’t stand the thought of him and her. Ewww! It gives me the creeps, man! Anyway, we met at the powder room and guess what she told me, “Hey, it’s nice to see you again. The last time I saw you was during my wedding, and now, look at us, we’ve changed.”
Yes, we’ve changed all right, but she changed from ragdoll to gay barbie. Come on! I know I’m not flawless bus hey, at least I’m natural! That fake boob job just made her look like Betty Boop without a nose. A look-alike, only uglier. And those flabby arms… I’m relieved he surpassed being crushed and strangled whenever she gave him bear hugs. Oh, sure. They must have shared a lot! They even shared the same bed for quite some time, right? Jeez! What the hell am I thinking?! Aaaargh! She’s so… She’s so not me! How could he have married her before?! I still don’t get it! And I have to stop writing before I tear myself apart.
She snapped her diary shut and threw it on her bed.