she practiced her handwriting in junior high study hall, behind the third most popular boy in school. she would scrawl his name slowly, shading every other letter, sketching one eye and then the other, noting the speck of light in the left, the ever-surprised uptick of thick eyebrows. never displaying it to anyone; instead turning in recreations of A+ work from other students in other schools. still in 8th grade, practicing delicate gestures, the self-assured walk of the pretty girls.
reading descriptors of women with french names and subtle beauty. understanding the allure of sponteneity- of the pixie-like, the idiosyncratic, women who are both sexual and childlike.
and here, a month left of her twenties, a chance to show courage. one choice that could alter a life of fiction into reality. a moment that could give her definition.
yes or no. the difference between always becoming and never being.
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