Still, it takes everything in you to not hide your face in your hands. As if you've stepped on a stage, and suddenly you're no longer afraid of the audience, only struck by the wonder of the spotlights and how incredible it feels to be there. What was he thinking? Why didn't you bring a scarf just in case? What are other people going to say when they see you? But mixed in with the embarrassment and the fear was a strange airy feeling. Your stomach knots itself into a tangle of thoughts and emotions.
#Grandpa define montage skin
Your finger traces the pale patch of skin on your otherwise brown face. Your skin feels dry and exposed in the cold air, and that's when you realize your makeup is gone. Slowly, you reach up to touch the side of your face. "You're beautiful, you know," he says softly. So I don't think it was a mistake that once again, we've ended up together." But you were the first lady to accept me as who I am. "I've thought about that day ever since," he begins, "and I'd be lying if I say you didn't hurt me. He drums his fingers on the bench, thinking. "It's never too late to learn," he replies. He sits back down beside you.ĭespite yourself, you smile. Several people have stopped in their tracks to gawk. Matching paper cutouts dangle from his ears.
On his head sits a hand-knit rainbow-coloured beanie. In one fluid motion, the man you loved takes off his sweater to reveal the outfit underneath: a neon paint-splattered shirt decorated with sequins and gold glitter. He nods, silently considering your words. But I just.I want you to know that I know what I said was wrong and hurtful. "I don't expect us to return to whatever we were before. The man who can dress and act like himself because he doesn't give a damn about what other people think." The man who dances whenever a catchy song comes on the store speakers. "The man who wears leopard prints and fuzzy slippers. The shame brings fresh tears to your eyes but you blink them away. It's smeared with your carefully-applied concealer. The handkerchief flutters in the breeze, and you manage to catch it before a sudden gust of air whisks it away. You chuckle, though the moment is fleeting. If you keep crying, you're gonna leave me with no choice but to sing. "Hey, listen to me, 'kay? I have this nasty cough and it's killing my throat. But when your vision clears, all you can see is what's left of the man whose heart you broke.Ī familiar voice tickles your ear. Your tears are gently wiped away before the air can turn them into bits of ice. A soft handkerchief presses against your face. Strong, firm hands guide you through the blurry crowd to a metal bench. "Was this the wrong thing to wear, too?" the man asks. The things that are too quiet, too mundane, too ordinary for this man's kind of wonderful.
The things that the average person would wear during a cold spell. With five quick strides you and the man are within arms' reach. Time slows down and speeds up at the same time. Then the crowd parts, and suddenly neither of you are invisible to the other. Or perhaps it was instinct, and not himself who told you he was there. The crowd shifts subtly so, but you've learned to read human movements like ripples on a pond. And perhaps that was the reason you were doomed from the start, because what you wanted was impossible. You made your choice you wanted to be like them, and not him. The fateful day came when you finally measured the distance between him and the rest of the world. It was why you hid for so long in the first place, after all. Maybe you fooled yourself in believing you could handle the jokes and snide comments thrown your way, while inside it ate at you until you couldn't bear it any longer. You'd walk the streets with him, arm in arm, and feel like both of you were on top of the world.īut maybe that was an illusion. Back when the light he brought in your life was all that mattered. You long for how it used to be, back when you embraced the stares with mirth and even pride. Would it be so romantic? Could it be? Would you deserve it?
You stand in the middle of the snow-dusted square, waiting for a rare streak of sunlight to pierce through the clouds and reveal the person you've been searching for. My 1k entry to The_Bookshop's and HurricaneBC's "Define Normalcy" prompt.
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