I entered the room and found her studying her reflection in the mirror, a girlish habit that sends up a maternal red-flag. “Do you like it, Mom?”
She was trying on a hand-me down dress given to her by an older friend. She tugged at the ill-fitting neckline and bodice; her body not yet the shape for its womanly cut.
I gotta give her credit. The girl dreams big.
And she’s a lot like me.
She pulled at the fabric and shifted her body until her reflection matched how she felt: bigger, older, and like someone else.
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