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Mom's face, usually so radiant, was softened with sadness as she replied, "Perhaps... yes."
"But what if you get lost?" I persisted, my voice trembling with fear and uncertainty.
"Then you know where to find me," she said, her voice laced with reassurance. "Follow the path of your heart, and it will lead you to me."
"And what if you can't find someone to mend your broken slipper?" I asked, my mind conjuring up the worst-case scenario.
"Then I suppose I'll have to come home," she replied with a hint of resignation. A flicker of hope ignited within me, like a spark in the darkness. "Really?" I asked, my eyes wide with newfound hope.
"I mean it..." Mom knelt before me, enveloping me in her embrace. Gentle kisses rained down upon my cheeks as tears glistened in her eyes. I never fully understood why she wept, but I could sense the love she felt for me in every tear.
When I asked Mom why she was crying, her response was a series of quotes, some of which have faded from my memory with the passage of time. However, one particular quote remains etched in my mind:
"The heart that loves is always young."
I remember my mom speaking words to me when I was just a kid, around ten or nine years old. She only said it once, but I've been trying to understand its meaning ever since. It went something like this: "Tears can mean so many things, and mine have their own hidden reasons. I cry because I now understand the consequences of leaving you. I know that you'll hold resentment towards me and face loneliness. But deep down, I believe that someday you'll grasp why I had to go on a journey to find someone who could mend my broken heart. And in the end, you'll come to comprehend the complexities surrounding your father's potential for a second chance with me. Seizing this opportunity comes at a great price, for it's only the memories of him and the moments we shared that still hold a special place in my heart. Second chances demand quite a sacrifice, and I hope you can find it within yourself to understand why I made this decision. I pray that one day, when you uncover the truth, you won't harbor hatred toward me."
And with that, my mother's words were sealed shut with a kiss. I never truly grasped the weight of that simple gesture, until the day she left me a larger book in its wake.
I couldn't comprehend why she believed I would ever peruse its contents, but I held onto it nonetheless. It was my way of preserving a piece of her, a temporary custodian waiting for her eventual return. Alas, her homecoming never transpired.
Only when the chapter of my life had reached its bittersweet conclusion did she resurface, accompanied by the revelation that shattered my illusions.
My mother had remarried, creating a new family with someone she deemed capable of healing her broken heart, akin to a fractured glass slipper. The truth dawned on me, casting a shadow over my already sullen heart. I now understood the metaphor she employed, likening her crushed dreams to that of an irreparable glass slipper. Some things in life simply defy restoration, and in this realization, my own chapter began to draw to a hushed close.
While my mother would pronounce it "the end," I perceived it as a poignant prelude, an invitation to embark upon my own journey anew which I’ve given hope for.
Chapter Twenty-One
Skye
"Not shy, not shy, not even a little bit," I muttered to my reflection, the fluorescent lights casting an unforgiving glare on my nervous fidget. The bathroom mirror, chipped and streaked with watermarks, mirrored the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. In my hand, a ruby bullet of strawberry delight - lipstick - promised a daring transformation. Today was Dax Day, the day I'd finally break free from the chrysalis of my unspoken crush and let him know the symphony of my heart wasn't just for solo listening.
Except, rehearsing at home had gone the way of the dodo, replaced by a sleep-deprived stumble into the morning. So here I was, in the porcelain and chrome kingdom of the girls' bathroom, my pep talk drowned out by the symphony of toilets and the ghosts of other girls' perfumes.
They wielded makeup like armor, each stroke a warrior's paint, a confidence I craved yet feared. Their painted faces held the spotlight, a spotlight I wasn't sure I could handle. But maybe, just maybe, lipstick was the baby step I needed, the gateway drug to the world of transformation. A hint of color, a whisper of rebellion against the girl who preferred the shadows.
My fingers, ghosts on glass, adjusted the familiar weight of my glasses.
I needed to see myself, truly, to see if this crimson charade could be the key that unlocked the vault of my hidden courage. The lipstick surrendered with a sigh, revealing a jewel of color, the scent of summer berries a dizzying promise of forbidden fruit.
My hand trembled, a butterfly taking flight, as I kissed my lips with the rouge. A light caress, not a full-blown assault. I didn't want to become someone else, just a version of me bold enough to be noticed. Enough for him to notice. For Dax, to see the tremor in my voice not as fear, but as the seismic shift of a heart on the verge of eruption. Maybe, just maybe, he'd see beyond the ordinary, the girl behind the glasses, and take me seriously. Or, better yet, take me too seriously, drown in the tide of my unspoken affection.
The mirror reflected a stranger, a blush of confidence blooming on my cheeks like a forbidden rose. A playful quirk of a smile danced at the corners of my lips, a secret shared between me and the reflection. It was just a game, a dare to the butterflies in my stomach, a tiny act of rebellion against the shy girl I thought I was. But in that crimson kiss, I glimpsed a future where my voice wouldn't be a whisper, where my heart wouldn't be a secret, and where Dax wouldn't just see me, he'd hear the roar of the girl beneath the lipstick and glasses. And maybe, just maybe, that roar would be enough.
I've devoured countless books on confidence and the art of being self-assured.
Being confident means owning who you are and taking pride in your appearance.
Today, I found myself grappling with a decision - do I dare take off my glasses? It may seem like a trivial thing, but truth be told, I had never removed them before. Nervous butterflies danced in my stomach, threatening to overpower my resolve.
After a deep breath, I took the plunge. With gentle fingers, I carefully slid off my glasses and tucked them away in the hidden corner of my skirt pocket. And that's when I stumbled upon something unexpected - a precious friendship bracelet nestled deep within the confines of my pocket.
I affectionately named it the friendship bracelet because it held memories of my ex-best friend, Tresa. We were more than friends - we were sisters in every sense of the word. If she were here now, things would be different. But alas, people change and jealousy can rear its ugly head, even among the closest of bonds. The person you once knew so intimately can suddenly feel like a stranger. Perhaps it's fate that has separated Tresa and me. Now, I must face my battles alone and learn to navigate this new school system where I struggle to find my place. It's a constant void that I yearn to fill.
And just like that, as if summoned from the ether, Tresa and her entourage of friends materialized behind me. They were an eclectic group - some familiar faces and some new.
As our gazes met in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, I couldn't help but notice the longing in her eyes. They lingered on the bracelet I held in my hand, though I had chosen not to wear it. It was a small act of defiance on my part, a way to break free from the intensity of her gaze.
