Focal Point

Part of a short story I am working on for my creative writing course

I am putting on one last coat of lipstick, because more is always better. I smell like tropical flowers, thanks to the new fragrance I could not pass up at Sephora. The aqua and peach box that enclosed this irresistible perfume was a good enough reason to give into purchasing it, with the help of my Visa card of course. No wonder it’s called Temptation. Using a round brush, I tease and flirt with my hair in hopes of manipulating it to do just what I want it to. I seek to find the outfit in my closet that screams “I’m it!” My eyes, like two dedicated search warrants, carefully scan each rack. Waving hello with its spaghetti-strap arms, my periwinkle blue lace top ended my eyes’ urgent quest. I gracefully slip it on. Miraculously, my hair and make-up stay in place. I put on a pair of ripped denim shorts. They do just the trick when I want to look good without appearing to have tried too hard. Finally, I reach for a dangly pair of earrings. They sparkle a certain way I tilt my head. They are good back up in case my smile does not glimmer enough for him. With on one foot, I do a twirl in front of the bathroom mirror. My shorts are just the right length. Short enough to make my legs look longer but long enough that daddy won’t have a conniption.

I’m ready. My mascara wand is finished its magic on my eye lashes. My purse is packed and fully loaded with anything and everything I need in case of a beauty emergency. I have gum and mints because I don’t know which he’ll prefer. There is nothing else left to do but wait for his arrival. I desperately look for something to distract me from my nerves. I turn on music loud enough so that I may not be able to hear the doorbell when it rings. My heart is thumping inside my chest, like the incessant bass drop in the background music at a night club. I tell myself to chill out but the surface of my skin gets hotter as the minutes pass. My cheeks get rosy. One thing I never waste money on is blush. I always know my nerves will make me plenty pink so adding blush to that would just be over doing it. My mom peaks her head into my room. “You look beautiful!” she says. I look at her with disbelief but I thank her anyway. I wonder what he will think of me. Will he like this top? Will he think my perfume smells good or will it remind him of his mother? All of these questions explode like fireworks in my brain. I know I am probably over thinking like I typically do. What I don’t know yet is if I’m actually ready for this.