Under the Same Dress by Tisha

Original narrative based on “Girl at the Mirror” by Norman Rockwell

I have always felt like an alien—ever since my mom’s death. It’s just me and my dad now, and he doesn’t understand my feelings. It’s been three years since she passed, but it feels like yesterday when we got the news. Middle school is hard enough without her, let alone having Luna and Isla hanging by my every word. Every day, every single day, I’m always the victim. Walking into school is like trudging a lamb to the slaughter. It’s always,” How’s your mom?” “Oh, wait, never mind.”

It’s 12 pm, just the beginning of the end. ”RING, RING!” blares the bell.” Ugh, I question myself, trying to ignore the fact that I’m about to walk down the slippery slope of the snake sanctuary. I slump into my seat then remember I have to get up. Just four more hours. You got this. “Looks like Opaline over here has worn the same dress every single day this week. You might win a record,” cackles Luna. I keep my head down as always and rest my noodle arms by my hips.

Returning home, I sat on my creaky stool in front of my outdated mirror. I began to pout, resting my chin on my cold, dry hands. “Why is it always me?” I ask myself. Why am I always the victim? Why do I need a hero to save me?” I always knew we weren’t rich, but this hit me in a way I never expected.

I stared at that mirror for a solid hour, inspecting every aspect of my body. I was extremely thin, like I hadn’t eaten in years. I could feel my bones and noticed how my eyes popped out. My face was hollow and there was barely enough meat on my bones to give me a shape. What felt like minutes had turned into hours.

When my father came home from his last shift, it was 10:00 p.m. As he strided up the stairs and into my room, I frightened him. I must have looked like I had seen a ghost. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I usually never tell Papa, but for some reason, this hit harder. “Papa, why are we so abnormal?” My dad stared at me with sadness and shame. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but the words just flowed out like a river. “What? Who said that, Sweetheart”? I shivered as I opened my mouth, but my voice was gone, just gone. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. I didn’t mean that. Sorry.” My dad knew something was up, but he just left it at that: “Okay, but tell me whatever you feel you need tell me, promise?” Papa said, hoping for an answer. Oh, now what do I say? “Yeah, I promise.” That was a lie. My dad always tries his best, and I can’t be the one to shatter his soul. “I’m going to go to sleep now,” I mumbled sadly.

The next day at school, I practically had a staring contest with the analog clock in the far right corner of the history room. Come on, how is it only 9:00 a.m? Ugh, I thought to myself as I felt Deja Vu over Luna and Isla commenting on my dress yesterday. I traced my finger over the white laces and buttons streaming down my dress and peered out the window to behold the vibrant colors of red, orange, and yellow. I wondered, If summer leaves just need to transform into more confident versions of themselves, then maybe it’s time I change too.”

BBBRRING” screeched the school bell as I stepped outside the room. For some reason I didn’t feel scared of the minutes I knew would come. As I spun into the crowd, I saw Luna and Isla coming closer. “What’s up, loser?” Isla declared, expecting a reaction. “Nothing much, you?” The girls were flabbergasted by my confidence. “Shut up! This is why your mom is dead!” she scowled. This was it. “Luna, I get it. You’re jealous of me, and you’re so insecure that you have to take it out on someone younger than you, a 7th grader. That must suck. I’m sorry that you feel so weird about yourself.” Luna was speechless, but so was I.

As I strutted down the hallway, I felt all eyes on me, but I didn’t even care. I felt proud of where I came from…and where I was going. I remembered the leaves and knew I too was transforming.

When school was over, I confidently hopped onto my old yellow bike and pedaled around the entire town. As I felt the breeze blow through my hair and ripple across my dress, I noticed the flowers in the field dancing and the leaves on the trees swaying. As I came home, the moment unfolded around me like a quiet bloom.

There was a strange, aching beauty in the way everything settled into place. I sat before the mirror, letting the light spill across my skin, and for the first time in a long time, I truly saw myself. The dress, the delicate architecture of bone and vein beneath my surface . . . they no longer felt like flaws, but like a life map that had carried me here .I smiled gently—almost in disbelief. For years I had lived like a dove pressed against the bars of its own ribs, wings folded, voice quieted. But today, something shifted.

The cage door unlatched with a subtle whisper … and I felt my wings trembling, finally opening into the shining light of the freedom I was made for.