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I wanted to make peace with it. But that was damn hard when the topic kept cropping up like an unrelenting tide of heat poking like nails on my skin.
My phone rang again. I just flipped that switch to silent and high-tailed it outta there.
I reckoned I needed to blow off some steam, so I went to dump a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.
By the time I got out, it was already sundown. The buttery glow of the last rays of amber sunlight had melted into soft pinks and purples against a deep blue sky.
My invite said I needed to be at the party by nine, so I took some time to gussy up.
Hell, I’d be a Southern belle ready to stir up some trouble at that party.
I slipped into a ruby red cocktail dress, feeling like a hot tamale in a sea of ice cubes.
The entire next hour saw me hurling a tirade of cuss words as I tried my best to coax my curls into shape. I managed to tease my hair up high and let it fall in loose, beachy waves around my shoulders.
I could have sworn Dolly Parton would be proud of that hairdo.
The figure smiling back from the mirror was all curves, gentle, swaying, and redolent of summer scents. And I loved it.
I loved every stretch mark woven like lightning on my skin, each freckle and meander and wrinkle.
It had taken me years to come to this place where I was learning to fall in love with myself. I'd spent two decades on the other side.
Then, two heartbreaks and a side of controversy later, I realized I could spend all my life at war with myself, but it would never make living any easier.
And I didn't want to remember myself that way. When I turned gray and crocheted my way into retirement, I wanted good memories.
This was me making those happen.
I finished by adding just the right amount of sparkle to make my eyes pop and my lips pout. With that, I strode into the living room and immediately regretted my decision.
You ever been around an introvert?
You know, that special breed of people who get excited to make plans and then immediately run out of social battery the second the plans are about to begin?
Yup, that was me.
Too late to back out. My Uber had already arrived.
I stepped out of my apartment, suddenly feeling like a toad in a dress. Thankfully, my Uber driver, Hank, was an angel.
"Howdy, Ms. Davis. I'll be your Uber driver for the evening. You look pretty as a peach in that red dress!"
I chuckled. "Thank you kindly, Hank. You sure do have a way with words."
As the ride began, I lost myself in the easy ramblings of Hank's thick drawl and the sights I saw on the way.
Old oak trees blurred into a bouquet of brown, green, and yellow draped in a soft evening wind and Spanish moss.
Every brick building here had something that tied it to the remnants of life from the Civil War era.
I leaned back and sighed. "I don't think I'll ever be able to live anywhere else but the South."
Hank cleared his throat. "Well, speakin' of living here. A few years ago, I was driving this very car when all of a sudden, I hit a pothole so deep it swallowed my tire. I was stuck there on the side of the road, wondering what to do. That's when a bunch of good ol' boys in a pickup truck pulled up beside me and asked if I needed help. And you know what they did? They pulled out a rope, tied it around the car, and yanked me outta that pothole like it was nothin'!"
"Only in the South, right?"
Hank grinned. "You got that right, Miss Juniper. We may have our share of potholes, but we sure do know how to help each other out."
