Ah Tuesday, it always feels a little easier to get up on Tuesdays. Or at least better than getting up with the alarm on Mondays. On Monday’s I always think my alarm is evil. It doesn’t matter how much sleep I actually get. I am fond of waking up without the alarm. Pity the world doesn’t seem to like that. I blame the morning people. I love you, but you are still to blame. So since the morning people rule the world and I am awake, let’s jump into the morning writing prompt shall we?
Okay, I wasn’t sure I liked this until the end. Now I feel like someone is plotting and my main character has been ambushed. I’m sure it says something about me since that is what I find interesting, but it is too early for self introspection. I’ll just say it might make a good story instead.
Tuesday, February 1st: Red is definitely your color.
“Red is definitely your color,” he told her. She lifted her eyebrow up and barely kept her lip from curling in distain. Red made her skin look blotchy. She had skin tones designed for more subdued colors and knew it. She looked over to find Michael staring at his phone busily texting and barely looking at her.
He was supposed to be helping her find a dress, but as usual something else had stolen his attention.
“Mhmmm,” she said noncommittally. She hung the dress back on the rack and walked to another section of the store.
She didn’t want to go to the dinner. She had in fact tried everything she could think of to get out of going to the dinner. She wasn’t looking forward to it and was still trying to get out of it when her last ditch effort failed and she was sent dress shopping, with Michael for assistance. He was supposed to have a good eye.
Cynthia hadn’t seen any evidence of it. ‘But maybe he uses his good eye elsewhere,’ she thought. She walked to another rack and flipped through the offerings. After a few garments she found a dress that was more suitable to her coloring. She pulled it out of the rack looked at it and decided it was passable. She checked the tag and found it was even in her size.
‘Let’s just hope it fits,’ she thought. She tried not to think about how much time she had already wasted on an event she didn’t want to attend. ‘And it is my busy season.’ She tried not to think of the mountain of work she had waiting for her. Nor how awkward and annoying the dinner was actually going to be. Where everyone in her family and the circle of their friends veered right with their lives, she veered left.
It didn’t matter that she was happy and successful with her life. That she was making good money and enjoying the work, on most days. It wasn’t the course they mapped out for her. So despite the fact that she made her life into something she was happy with and proud of, everything she was doing with herself would be chalked up to ‘a phase’ or some sort of experiment on her part. The underlying theme would be that sometime soon, she would come to her senses and return to the path everyone expected her to walk.
If she didn’t know that this dinner was about presenting the perfect familial image, she might have suspected it of being some sort of intervention. She slipped into the dressing room, leaving Michael still engrossed in his phone. She disrobed quickly and tried on the dress. I fit, in fact it looked pretty good and it was something she liked that was also appropriate to the venue.
“We have a winner,” she told herself. Cynthia slipped off the dress, redressed and took herself out of the dressing room. Michael hadn’t moved. She went to the register, paid for her dress and after it was put into the bag, turned back to Michael.
“Hello,” she called. Michael looked up. She wiggled her shopping bag. “We’re done here,” she told him. He nodded and slipped his phone into a pocket.
“See I told you red was your color,” he said. She didn’t bother to correct him. They left the store and when they reached their cars, he reminded her of the time before they parted ways.
Cynthia sighed and wondered if she dared stop by the office to see what lurked or if she was better off going home, taking a long bath and then getting ready for the dinner. Suspecting any attempt to go by work would just pull her in and cause her to completely forget the dinner, she opted for the bath.
By the time she had to leave for he dinner, she felt refreshed and willing to at least pretend towards geniality. ‘Just let it wash over you,” she told herself as she drove over. With her hair and makeup fixed the pale green dress looked even better than it had in the store. She felt pretty and confident. Until she reached the doorway. There her step mother was waiting her lips pursed in disapproval.
“Matthew Learner likes the color red,” her step mother hissed.
“Who the hell is Matthew Learner?” Cynthia asked.
Ten til Midnight 