Posts Tagged ‘high heels’

What would she be like?

September 3, 2011

What would she be like? The girl born on the twenty-third of the third month of the year that is the year I was born.

 Do her legs slot into drain pipe jeans with shape and dignity?

Do her feet melt into high heels?

 Is her back as smooth as a back should be?

Maybe her skin is marked with the time people tried to repair her; maybe not.

Would her life be all that different? I’m not sure how deep the damage goes. Maybe her favourite colour would be purple and she would enjoy the smell of rain.

She’d be a dancer, one that trains for hours on end, although I’m not sure that she would pursue it. You see, she always excelled in math and English, perhaps a degree in English literature in Edinburgh or maybe she would become a business women, in a black pencil skirt and jacket with killer high heels to match.

She would settle down early but keep her head above water in the business department. A wedding dress down to her ankles, showing off simple white heels, decorated with lace.  Her children would be healthy and she would run with them as they battled each other in a game of cowboys and Indians. She would be a cow girl. She would work abroad and eventually move there for several months however she’d return to be with her family.

Later on in life she would retire, spend years with friends going to fitness classes and wasting time at spas in dressing gowns. Her children would grow into musicians who speak at least two different languages. They’d be successful at work and take their parents to dinner to celebrate birthdays.

Eventually she would grow old with her husband and whilst putting out the rubbish they would wonder how it got so good.

She’d look back at her life; the parties, the shoes, the work and she’d be proud.

The truth is, she would probably hate her freckley skin and straighten her hair to cover the curls. She would regret not going onto become a professional dancer.

Her friend would give birth in Holland to a girl with a ‘defect’ and she would write a ‘thinking of you’ card enclosed with the ‘Congratulations’ card. She wouldn’t know what to say to her so simply write “To Ben and Caroline, Love Amy and the family”. The scar on the inside of her foot, where she trod on glass as a child would bother her, she would use bio oil to cover the pink patch and would wear shoes to cover the unholy blemish. She would have gone to hospital on many occasions, her birth, her child’s birth, her second child’s birth and her husband’s death. On top of these would be the odd visits to a relative or friend, she would skip the canteen for fear of hospital food and leave.

She’s a good person, a nice person. She cares for others and many care for her. She gives to charities and is a shoulder to cry on. She’s different to me. We’re not really the same person at all.

I wonder if we had the chance to cross one another in the street, who would stare at who? The jealous or the curious; which is better?