Girl Disappearing

Here I share with you my insecurities. Some of the events in this story are true, others are fictional. I'm sure we've all felt like a girl disappearing into the shadow of another, and this is my account. See author's note for more details.

        

ALANNAHHH!!! Why aren't you at Jayla's party?!

I wasn't invited.

But anyone can come though!

Easy for you to say. I didn't even get the choice of accepting or rejecting the invitation.

Oh Lan, that's not fair. Get your butt here right now!

No.

*end call*

~

Jayla took her boyfriend on holiday with her family after two months of going out with him.

So?? Stop comparing me to her!

We're not. We're just saying that, if she's comfortable enough with her boyfriend to do something like that-

Look Mum, I know you're chuffed about my first boyfriend. I know I'm new to all this, but holidays with boyfriend and family just doesn't seem like a good idea yet.

But we haven't even met him yet! At least Jayla's parents-

*slight scream in a public restaurant*

~

I'm constantly living in someone's shadow. Whatever I do, she gets there first. My parents even want my 21st to be like hers. It's all about f*****g Jayla and her f*****g perfect life. I can't even picture my ambition to be a singer without thinking she'll get there first. So what if she does, it's not like we write the same songs or like much of the same music. But with my mother seeing her as a shining light, I can't help but feel a bit insecure about my life and my dreams.

~

“This is all set up now Alannah”, my mother says, having pulled a drape across the entrance to the marquee in our garden. “Go upstairs and put your new dress on!”

I have not seen this new dress because my mother bought it as a surprise. Pushing my door open, I see a wrapped package on my bed. Lifting the lid and pulling the tissue paper aside, I see the colour – dark, lime green. There are matching shoes in the box – high heels; Mum knows I can't walk in them. I touch the straps – thin, green ribbons; Mum knows much I hate thin straps as they make my shoulders look a lot bigger than they all ready are. There appears to be something of a headdress in the box as well. I finger the green feathers and the netted veil. Picking it up, a note falls out of the box – it says “pin your hair in a bun and wear this fascinator so it doesn't clash with the outfit.”

Taking the straps and holding them up to my body, the dress falls elegantly to the ground. I look at my reflection, trying to picture myself wearing it. Of course I don't get a choice in the matter – I have to go downstairs in something formal. The doorbell goes. The first guests start to arrive. I close my bedroom door.

Looking in the mirror, I ever so intently watch myself arrange the expensive fabric on my fair skin. My feet slip into the killer heels. My colourful hair is pinned back into a bun as prescribed. I place the fascinator on my head. A tear falls down my cheek. I look exactly like her.

~

The doorbell won't stop ringing – how many people did she invite? Is she taking advantage of how she didn't have a party for her 21^st? I have been crying for at least twenty minutes now, believing the theory that my mother wants me to be Jayla. The time approaches 8 o'clock. I'll have to make an appearance soon. I feel like literally tearing the dress off – it would be so easy to do. But my mother would never forgive me for the expense. My mother, expecting me to obey her every command, has removed the receipt and price tags. Either way the outfit cannot be returned, so I could.

There's no mistake that it's a beautiful creation but it clearly was not made for someone of my stature: pink hair, fair skin, broad shoulders, medium bust, rolls of flab for a tummy, massive thighs, chunky calves, wide feet not suited for narrow sky-scraping heels.

I think of all the possibilities in terms of presenting myself at my own 21^st birthday party. In front of my parents, family and friends, I could appear rugged with messy hair, drawn on tattoos in the slashed dress I made earlier. That would be perfect in a film. But I have to be careful.

As the clock in the hall rings for half past eight, I hear my mother calling up the stairs,

“Come on, Alannah, we're waiting for you! Remember what I told you about your entrance – I left a cue sheet outside your bedroom door so we can capture everything on camera.”

Ah yes, the cue sheet. Maybe she just wants me to be happy and let me remember this occasion as an omniscient eye would, as well as the effort that went into the evening. The cue sheet features me walking downstairs dimming the lights as I go, waiting for my mother to hush everyone and upon seeing my shadow in the hall, she turns on the music that sums up my age-old number in the most detailed of nutshells. In all honesty, I wanted to spend my 21^st birthday separately with my various groups of acquaintances – my home friends, my uni friends and my family. It would be expensive, of course, but almost certainly better than feeling like a stranger at her own birthday party.

I start to think of my dad; how he's taking all this. He isn't the biggest fan of standing around and talking to people, although I wonder if Mum asked him to conjure up a speech about me being young and dumb. The thought of it makes me laugh a little, but it's what Jayla's dad did. I've seen the photos. My dad would want me to make my mother happy and would probably encourage me to make an appearance in the green creature suffocating my body. But then again he would want me to be happy too. Time is running out.
 

I grab the cue sheet...

“Sssh everyone, here she comes,” I hear my mother say as my fingers caress the dimmer-switch en route down the stairs. Although I'm not sure if I've made the right decision, I feel better. Once in the darkened hall, I nod at my mother and sure enough, “The Way You Look Tonight” comes booming over the airwaves. As I am drawn into the candle-light of the marquee, I am a walking time-bomb of controversy... but I don't care. My jeans flare out over my worn-yet-comfy trainers. I'd taken the scissors previously and cut the dress in half. I also removed the straps. Along with a trusty black bra, I DIY-ed the dress into a fanciful little bustier. It looks a little odd but hey, that's me. My rosy locks fall loose around my face. I cast an eye in my mother's direction. She looks absolutely horrified. So much that she falls back into the record player and the needle skips onto the next track. Fittingly, “Respect” by Aretha Franklin. I turn to her. No one else in the marquee knows how the evening was supposed to go, but I wrecked it. I may have broken my mother's heart, but she needed a wake-up call, or else I am not really her daughter.

“Mum.”

She gasps, her eyes scanning every item of clothing, namely the developed dress she spent however much money on. She's about to shout at me but I get there first.

“Hear me out, please. I'm not Jayla. I don't want to be Jayla, and you must understand that. I didn't want this evening to be like this. As much as I am grateful for everything that you've done tonight and ever since I was born, I can honestly say that I hate the way you have never listened to me. If you had, and as much as I like the people here [a slight assumption, some of them I hardly recognise], you would have known that I wanted to share my birthday with you and dad. It is my 21^st after all, and I'm going into the world of work and independence. You can't have me for my entire life, moulding me into someone else's shoes for whom I am not fitted. But you did so anyway. But not any more, I hope.”

She is so utterly shocked right now, I begin to question my actions. The song is still playing.

“I know I'm being selfish but you need to respect who I am, mother.”

I address the guests.

“Thank you all very much for coming, and you can continue to enjoy yourselves – I wasn't present for the first hour of the party and so far, no one's complained. I'm going to enjoy myself with my friends now so we can go our separate ways, for tonight anyway.”

R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me

R-E-S-P-E-C-T, take care, TCB

the music goes as I make my exit. Grabbing my handbag, the doorbell rings. There is a deathly silence throughout the house and garden. I open the front door to reveal Mauri, who makes that evening complete as she exclaims

“I love your top!”

*front door slams*

~

It was selfish, what I did. But she needed to know. I'm not sure if she's glad I told her, especially under those circumstances. I hurt her pride but she reduced the prejudice, and we're doing much better as a result.

 

Author's Note

- This piece is based on a song of the same title by Tori Amos from her album "American Doll Posse".
- Jayla is based on a real person; names have been changed.
- My mother is not as gnarly as depicted but she has her moments.
- I really hope my 21st doesn't go the way I've written it [ed. and it didn't!]
- Apologies for both appearances of the f-word.

Reviews

[~IlOvEcHrIsToPhErBuRnEt..]

To tell you the truth, at first i had no clue what you was talking bout, but as i got further into reading it then i realized what you were talking about. Im kind of like Jayla when i accomplish something my parents "brag" to my brothers and sisters like your sister did this why cant you? so i feel bad now i see it from their point of view. Thank you for showing me there is two sides to a story. Hope you write more like this one. Thank you for the great read. :)

[~angelalala~]

i like this story. often times moms (& dads) have an idea of who their daughter should be, who they want them to be, & cannot see that their daughter is an actual individual. sometimes its best to shock them into reality. its sometimes the only way to get through to them. very nicely written & witty.

[R J Askew]

I wondered what you was going to serve up, I did.

Firstly, these bits caught my magpeye...

It's all about f*****g Jayla
wear this fascinator
omniscient eye
Killer heels
Ah yes, the cue sheet.
I am a walking time bomb of controversy.

I likes it Ali. It surprised me and it is f-f-fresh. You are your own omniscient eye observing your own life and experience. And for you of course it is all real as you are at the age where you have not quite got your mother to realise you are not 15-going-on-7 anymore, and the toy of her own dreams. Ach, we spend half our lives behaving to others notions of how we should be. And there is always a model of perfection in our faces to torment us. I suspect you have the willpower to be yourself in due course, hopefully without having to smash mater in the process. Again, Ali, great observational skills, in this piece of an semi-imagined situation. And the writing bobs along in a easy read way. I really like the witty note in "Ah yes, the cue sheet." And of course all English girls have a thing about our Jane as you show in the last graph. But the last graph works. I think the best writing in this is the top half. I smile at the thought of your mater reading...ahem... exits review, stage right... pursued by...