“When all you want to do is be the Swan Princess in Swan Lake, you make sacrifices,” she’d told me that day in the office very matter-of-factly. Sarah was at peace with her issues. She’d gone through years of counseling and this year would finally be the swan princess she always dreamed of being—fully in control of what she considered her “livable flaws.”
Me?
Well, I guess we all had issues that lingered. Some had visible flaws they could see in the mirror, touch with their hands…measure on a scale. Others, like me, had memories that woke us from sleep and haunted our waking hours, making normal, well—different.
I doubted there would ever be any glorious end of the rainbow moment that would somehow magically cure me of all my flaws.
But, I was working on it and Ryan had made a world of difference in my once bleak outlook on life. Now I saw possibilities where there once was only darkness. He brought hope to my sadness and light to my life. There wasn’t a day that went by that I wasn’t thankful for his persistence in seeking me out.
I’d been a hard one to nail down, or so he told me.
“So, are you ready?” she asked, grabbing my hand and moving away from the frozen yogurt and fried food.
“As I’ll ever be,” I sighed, taking one last longing look at the exit.
“Oh come on. Most girls are excited to do this. Hell, I’ve been excited for this day for weeks!”
“Then say you’re me,” I begged, as we turned the corner and my eyes spotted the brightly lit sign at the end of the walkway. I could feel the groan already forming, the deep rumbling sound vibrating through my lungs as it made its way up to express my displeasure.
“Everly Adams. You will not ruin this for me! This is your day and you will enjoy it!”
“I thought my day was several months from now,” I joked.
“As the blushing bride-to-be, you will have lots of days between now and then. Get used to the attention.”
I groaned again, looking at the floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed more tulle and sequins than I’d seen in my entire life.
“We should have eloped.”
“This is horrid, Sarah,” I whined, shuffling out of the dressing room in a gown that could only be described as a cross between the Little Mermaid and that scary Alfred Hitchcock movie with all the birds.
“It’s beautiful! And so fashion forward,” she practically squealed, clapping her hands together like a happy toddler who had just been given a lollipop for supper. “Look at the way the fabric gathers together, making it look like tiny feathers at the bottom of the skirt. So dramatic.”
“That,” I said, pointing to my calves,” is also where my legs are supposed to be able to move back and forth. It’s called walking. I look ridiculous!”
“Walking is so overrated. Besides, how much walking are you planning to do in this thing?” She rolled her eyes, kneeling down to play with the skirt some more. It resulted in the tulle or whatever the puffy stuff was called doubling in size.
“There, perfect.”
“I’m not wearing this,” I said firmly, trying to look anywhere but at the three different mirrors all reflecting my ridiculous reflection. “Pick another one. And for the love of God, pick something less…well, less you!”
I once again attempted to walk back into the dressing room, doing more of a waddle than a walk. Once there, I was joined by an attendant to assist me. There was no way I could get out of this monstrosity by myself.
“Your tattoo is lovely. Quite unique,” the bridal attendant said, as she stood behind me and removed the clamps that held the dress in place. My thin, boy-like frame never did fit into sample sizes well. The lack of hips and boobs kept me in sizes most women would die to wear, but the lack of aforementioned body parts sometimes sucked. A lot.
Especially when trying on wedding dresses. Or anything remotely feminine. I felt more like a pre-pubescent boy trying on drag than a beautiful, curvy woman.
“Thank you,” I answered awkwardly, as my hand instinctively reached behind my shoulder to touch the piece of me that I rarely shared with others. The walls of mirrors put my body completely on display, highlighting every rough curve and jutted angle, exposing the harsh black lines of the branch as it wove up my back and around my shoulder.
“Why doesn’t the bird fly away? She’s free,” she said absently, her head cocked to the side as she stared at the birdcage etched on my right shoulder. It was intricate and beautiful as it hung on the barren branch, the door swung wide open for the world to peer in on the tiny bird inside.
“Maybe she’s not ready yet,” I answered quietly, looking away.