Grown Up or Not? - by Regina Moon

“Here Lora… put on the dress, Lora” It's strange, the way it echoes. I don't know why it has to. It's been so long. My birthday is on September 14th. 21. I'll be getting my driver's license. That was… February 13th? Ten years ago. I brush it off as I brush my hair. Well, Lora is different now… she changed and she's not with Mum anymore. So, why does it feel like I'm constantly holding my breath? Because this looks familiar. I know it does. I'm just not ready to accept it. Accept what exactly? It's Friday night. The gang is having a night out at a friend's place. We’ll be using Terian’s new car, like we did last week. Honestly, I've been feeling a bit jittery about my life, maybe a bit exhausted. Sara says it's stress from being shaken up about my breakup last month. “Just dance the night away and forget the loser,”she suggested. That should be that easy. I mean, it's not like I've ever been someone who cared that much about guys. And it's not like I even like hoop earrings. Diane thinks I look better in drop earrings. They are quite cute though… No. No… I don't like hoop earrings. You don't like hoop earrings at all… “But I don't like mermaid dresses mumm! I don't want to!” I blink and shake my head, narrowing my eyes at my own brain. Intrusive much? I take the last sip of alcohol from my glass. No, I'm not a drunkard, just trying to get tipsy enough to forget myself tonight… Why? I’ve never really known why. Maybe I just need a break from living in my reality . Maybe I need the motivation to live someone else's for a while. I guess I don't always like the way my life turns out. I draw on eyeliner over my eyelids. I look at the mirror, winking as I hum my mind away. Oh, I don't care. I couldn't possibly care. The girl in the mirror looks invincible to overthinking right now. My phone pings. I glance at the message. Nina’s got my piercing appointment scheduled for tonight too. We are all getting piercings, I'd choose a nose piercing. I open Instagram and grin at the new comments on my last picture. “Literally my girly tomboy godmother”. “Love the makeup, go easy on the contacts though? Try green, works nice for light skinned people”. “A picture of you trying a ribcage tattoo?”. “You’d look so nice with red hair though”. “Why? But it's so cute… Don't you want to look pretty,honey? Don't you want to be a prom queen like mummy?” I smile shakily as I type, hearting all the comments until my eyes fall on one: “You look different, did you do something with your hair?” I look up slowly, blank eyes registering the mirror and the girl standing before it. She looks so pretty. Brown hair. Green contact lenses. Makeup. Top notch. I blow a kiss at the mirror. But why is there an ache inside me? “No! I don't like it… I don't even like purple that much. And I don't care about being prom queen” I pause mid-kiss. Then I smile shakily as I pick up my phone for a selfie. My fingers don't move. It feels like I can't move. I look at the mirror, my hand running through my hair as I practice a smile. Cringe. And an ache. Okay…something’s wrong. This time, I don't brush it off. My eyes land on the tattoo on my arm. I reach out, fingers brushing the ink. Some quote I had thought was relatable or something… Why? “But honey, everyone's going to be dressing pretty, don't you want to look like the girls from school? You and Faye will be matching” Call me crazy… but why do I get deja vu… I look at her, the girl in the mirror. This green eyed girl looking back at me…I tuck a stray strand of brown hair behind my ear. I dyed my black hair brown … and it didn't seem to match my brown eyes, so I wore green contacts… I tilt my head as my throat feels drier. “What do you do…when you feel yourself playing recycled scripts for a show you don't remember auditioning for in the first place?” Those eyes looking back at me. Then it clicks. “Hair dye challenge! New make over anyone?”. “Green contacts work best with brown hair”. “You have this emo vibe going on…you should lean into it. It's your advantage”. “Always so nonchalant and carefree, I like that about you”. … “I don't care about Faye! I don't care whatever anyone wants to think about me! I'm not your puppet to play dress-up with!” Puppet… A puppet… I stare at the stranger now standing in front of the mirror. I have no idea how she got here. My eyes widen as I touch my face. This isn't me… it's never been me. What am I doing? “I’m sorry Lora, but you have no choice on this… I've already bought it. And it was very expensive”. My knees feel weak, yet I can't turn my eyes away. I hold the table, steadying myself. Expensive… My eyes water as I fumble for makeup remover, my hands trembling as my heart pounds. “No… I can always just… put it back,” I mumble. My face burns as I wipe, as though I could wipe this stranger away. The alarm bells go off. It's expensive. I could see it all. The gang hated party-poopers. Nina scrunching up her nose as I refuse to get the piercing. Terian shrugging as I say I can't make it. Sara calling me out for being a weakling who wanted nothing more than a pity party to comfort myself. And then the comments. “You're different now Lora, what happened?” “Oh, not you too!” “I knew it was fake from the very day” “ Little Miss Attention Seeker” I’d lose everything. My hand hangs in the air. I can barely hold it, looking at the mirror as though it caused this in the first place. We yell together: “That's not fair!” I might have stayed there for a million years as I slid into the chair, my heart breaking as I looked at her. When… did I choose this? Who is this? How did I get here? Being accountable to unspoken rules of “normalcy”? Getting so caught up in the world that my identity seemed to originate from my Instagram account… and from the directions of my friends? And that's why it aches, isn't it? That's why it never feels like enough, and yet I can't seem to stop running. Because who else am I to be if I dare to peel the layers away? I shake my head, closing my eyes as I try to breathe. No, no… I shouldn't think of this. After all, people grow up. Change is inevitable. And best of all, I dictate what this change comprises… “Lora, young lady. You're just a child, someone's got to make sensible choices for you” I’m older. Yet the sinking feeling remains: despite growing up, someone's still making choices for us. About who we should be. What we should wear. Where we can and can't be. What we can and can't express. And oh, the irony to discover that you have never really lived for you but for others. That your evolution has been shaped by opinions as unpredictable as the people holding them. How CAN'T you feel tired already? “Ugh, I can't wait to grow up! I’ll leave all your rules in the dust to be whatever I want to be for prom dances” I open my eyes, staring teary-eyed at the stranger in front of me. 21… I'll be getting my driver's license… Grown up? Or not?

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