Rosé

One month ago…

I run the scissors along the edges of her hair, careful not to do a sloppy job. This one, I'll call her Mary, is every bit as perfect as the girls I know. She has sleek brown hair. Not a strand out of place. Same as the others. Perfect. Their lips glossy and their lashes dark. All wearing the same contemptuous stares barely hidden by a semi-polite plastic smile. They look at me, especially this Mary, as if they know everything about me. Whore, she seems to say, as if she knows me. Dirty whore. As if they can take one look at my frumpy clothes and worn shoes and know exactly who I am on the inside.

They don't know me.

Not really.

Nobody knows me. Including me.

Even I'm still trying to figure it out.

And one day I will.

I continue carving more girls with utmost precision using my razor-sharp scissors, all the while humming a song I've made up. One of the pictures I choose is of a blonde. Blue eyes, wide and innocent. I push her picture to the side. She's different. Her eyes see things others don't see even though she hides behind the same perfection as they do.

Do you see me?

Lisa's bass thumps from her bedroom beside mine and I smile on the inside. Twins. She and I shared the womb, but that's not all we share. Her inky black hair is the same shade as mine. The flecks of brown in her green eyes are slightly darker, but side by side they look similar. To an outsider. She's well over six feet, but I'm nearly there, which is tall for an eighteen-year-old woman. Our features may be similar, but our personalities wildly differ.

Lisa is angst and irritation and perpetual scowls.

I'm hopeful and pleasant and always smiling.

To an outsider.

I see what my sister doesn't share with others. The broken heart she still carries for our dead mother. The overwhelming hate she has for our father. The way she tries to protect me by shutting me out. Lisa bottles it all up and hides behind glares. She turns up her rock music and offers her middle finger to anyone who dares to peek inside.

And yet, even though I see past my sister's walls, she doesn't even see mine. My walls are invisible.

I'm shyness and smiles and never tears. I'm untouched. Shielded by the harms of the outside world. Innocent. A peacemaker.

To an outsider.

A pang tugs at my heartstrings and I let out a rush of breath. I won't think about him. I won't think about anything. My heart makes reckless decisions. I'm tired of letting my heart decide.

I continue to cut out vapid-looking young women straight from the Seventeen magazine Lisa bought me after school and punch holes through their eyes with my pencil.

They. Don't. See. Me.

With no smile, I glue the pictures of pretty girls on the paper, making a rainbow with their eyeless faces. Below them, I paste a picture of a raven. On top of the raven, I glue the top half of the blonde with her eyes still intact. When the glue dries, I'll be able to lift the flap and see the raven. Just as she might possibly see me. My stupid heart always hopes for silly things.

I stare at the picture for a long while—until the afternoon sun disappears and I can smell whatever it is Lisa is cooking. Next month, we'll graduate from high school. Lisa wants to go off to a fancy university, but the best she'll be able to afford is community college. I wish she had more opportunities in this life. I wish our father wasn't a lowlife drunk who hurt others when he was too cowardly to hurt himself. I wish…

I wish for so many things I'll never have.

The squeak of brakes on Dad's old Chrysler alerts me to the fact that he's home from his shift at the plant. It's after dark, which means he stopped by the bar on the way home. And with Lisa in the kitchen with his music blaring through the house that will no doubt provoke our father, there's only one way this night will end.

Badly.

I need to run interference.

As much as I hate our father, I hate it worse when our father beats on my sister.

So, I put on my smile.

The one Dad likes. The one they all like. The one Lisa hates.

Because even though she doesn't see my walls, she senses them. Maybe it's the whole twin thing or maybe I'm not as invisible as I'd like to think.

The front door slams, rattling all the windows in the house, and I know I must hurry. I shove my picture into the dilapidated desk drawer and bolt from my room. It smells like spaghetti and I'm sad that Dad will try to ruin the meal for everyone.

"Dad!" I cry out when I see my father stumbling for the kitchen on a rampage. He nearly knocks a lamp off an end table in his haste to rip into my sister for God only knows what.

But Dad sees the me I want him to see.

The smile he likes. The smile they all like. The smile Lisa hates.

His tense shoulders relax and he opens his arms for a hug.

I run to him because I have to.

I hug him because I have to.

I choke on his liquor breath because I have to.

One day soon, I won't have to.