Jessica  − January, 2007

She stands in the doorway to the kitchen with a bowl of noodles perched in her hands. Plastic bracelets cover her arms, and I can see from where I’m standing that the black nails at the tips of her slender fingers are chipped and in need of repainting. Her feet are bare, toes painted accordingly, and her smooth white legs disappear beneath a black skirt. Dyed hair hangs with a bottled shine about her cheeks, and a smile, quiet like the rest of her, spreads slowly across her face, floating across the room to me and catching my heart in my throat.

She doesn’t know this, but when she smiles she’s someone else. Every so often, if you’re quick, you can see this girl that she tries so hard to hide. I wish I could tell her this.