About
Formerly 'mozuma'.
By Androgynous Mannequin.
The night is young, the stars obscured by clouds, with only a sprinkle of rain to dampen the sidewalks. Along the rugged, pot-hole filled roads, headlights sweep across the brick buildings, illuminating graffiti, shop signs and a number of passer bys. Their weaving passage, however, does not reveal the shady bars, the crooks, the homeless and the beggars, nor the dealers and the whores loitering on street corners, waiting for their perfect opportunity to gain a few dollars or a few lives, depending.
However, this high class part of town remains bright with joviality and exuberance; the fancy restaurants open now for fine wine and dining, but only for those with reservations days in advance. This is not a place for the middle class – the mere sight of the glitzy and regal would instantly cause one a feeling of humble surrender and certain inadequacy.
There is one girl, of course. There is always one girl. She really does not belong in this little part of town. Her paycheque is low and her dress is well worn; the ruffle at her throat grey slightly from its age. She is an alien to such parts, and yet, every single night she is seen, violet pumps leaving one of the more expensive French cafés in the city. Many wonder how she makes it past the front door!
Smiling endearingly at one tuxedo-clad male, the lovely women makes her way back to the streets, her shoulders squared, back straight, and chin up. It is all about appearance, she is well aware, and though her attire is less than glamorous, her attitude always manages to ensnare the glances of many men and women, merely from walking down the street.
She tugs at a piece of her violet locks; lips curling as her eyes catch those of another young gentleman, polite yet captivating. He passes by without a word.
One moment she is rounding a corner, and the next she’s spinning, a pair of strong arms reaching to hold her up. The woman’s careening arms are caught and she is brought against his chest, the musky scent of cologne and mint heavy from their proximity. He supports her frame until she can regain her balance, the broken heel of her favourite pair of shoes lying just beside where it had caught in the sidewalk.
“Are you all right?” Her head spins, her heart beats wildly. She knows she is flushed, and hopes it doesn’t make her look too flustered. Blue eyes gaze up to the dark-eyed, handsome man’s face as she attempts to regain her composure. Confidence, she reminds herself, is what gets you far.
“I’m so sorry, mister,” Her words are playful, easy-going. She is only young, after all. “Thank you, though.”
He stares at her for a few moments, hard. Brown eyes scrutinizing her face, boring into her. She fidgets uneasily, a wavering smile on her lips. He, too, is confident.
“You should be more cautious, miss.” The simple statement catches her off guard, and her jaw drops, bristling. He doesn’t know what she has to go through just to be able to make it down here! Her lips move furiously, pale skin flush with anger from this blunt stranger. However, before her thoughts can even begin to resemble words, he turns. Begins to walk away.
“Wait!” She finally manages to call, brushing the violet from her up-do viciously behind her ear, no longer concerned about her appearance. “Do you have any idea—”
“I’m sorry, miss. I must be home. My wife is waiting for me. Please, do get some safer shoes.”
She is left standing there, silent. The rain begins again, and her hair slowly falls down around her shoulders, the cheap hairspray no longer holding it in place. Her eyes fall downwards, to the concrete, where she retrieves the snapped plastic of her shoe. Her shoulders sag, teeth sinking into her bottom lip hard. So easily deflated… Her appearance so easily shattered.
It was time to go home, to rethink this shell of a life, this pretending to be a rich, pretty young lady, flirting over wine she cannot afford and pretending she will return his phone calls. It is something she thinks long and hard about, as she limps back towards the middle-class part of town, dress patterned with rain, hair curling messily around her face. As she begins the ascent to her apartment, she pauses, eyes closed in a moment of pure clarity.
Her smile is genuine: she has never looked as beautiful as she does right now.
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