I walk through the doors of the Scythe shopping center. The smell of leather, pastries, and perfume samples, waved in through the revolving doors. Layla links her arm through mine as we go up the escalator to the main floor of the shopping center.
I stare at the mural on the marble floor, of an elegant scythe, shopping bags looped over the handle. A monument to both death, and capitalist consumerism. Nice. The ceiling of the center is domed glass, letting the faint grey sunlight stream through, interrupted by the shadows of pigeons as they fly across.
I notice Layla has curled her hair today, and she's put on really pale lilac lip-gloss, that makes me smile, knowing the joy there would have been on her face as she put it on. I remember whenever I go over to her house, she would make up my face and turn me into a different person when I looked in the mirror again. But the thing that really made me smile, was the look of concentration, and joy as she did it.
That's why I like shopping with her, or studying with her, because of her look of concentration, her narrowed eyes as she checks everything, the flicker of her smile as she's trying not to laugh at a face I made, or a joke I told, and half-annoyed I made her almost mess up a stroke. Then her shiny eyes as she gets the mirror, and then her laughing at the fact I'm so excited.
That smile is another reason I'm doubting if I'm bisexual or not.
The first shop we go to is some trendy place that opened recently. A clothing place that seems weirdly 'preppy' for Layla's tastes. It's stuff I'd wear actually, and I shoot her a glance, wondering if she planned this or something.
I check the clothing label on a blue pleated skirt that looks like some part of a school uniform, and it's surprisingly reasonable for the neat interior. Layla stands next to me, examining a shorter, slimmer version in a pretty lilac, comparing it to a cherry-blossom pink one.
"Which one?" She asks me. I frown, debating how to tell her she looks good in both, without letting her pay for both.
"The blue one?" I say, pointing to one behind her, throwing in a wildcard.
"You're right." She says, after some deliberation, draping the power-blue skirt over her arm. "Here, we can coulor match." She hands me a dark blue one, this one has a waistband of ribbon-like material, that catches the light.
"Oh." I say, not quite sure how to react, as Layla reveals she picked out a whole outfit. A shirt that is pleated at the waist. It will hide my stomach when it's relaxed. I light up partly, trying not to feel terrible that that was my first thought. I agree to wear it, along with a navy bow that I cringe away from in my mind.
"You don't have to like it." Layla says shyly. That makes me jolt to attention.
"No, I love it, but you have to not laugh when I try it on!" I mumble, embarrassed.
"I won't. I'll do the ribbon for you, yeah?" I smile, and run off to get changed.
When I emerge, Layla ties the ribbon in my hair, and look in the mirror. I'm transfixed. I look different. Lighter, effortless, graceful. The skirt stops just below my knees, long enough to make me feel comfortable, and the material swishes like grass in the wind, silent, but beautiful, it makes me look tall in a pretty way, not a giraffe-rake way. If it weren't for my hair and acne, I'd look like a waving piece of grain, in a cute, dancing in a sunny field way.
Layla parts the hair from my face. I'm smiling. I look at her through the mirror. I don't want to admit it, but she's done it again. She's made me feel pretty, but not self-conscious. I hug her tightly.
Five minues later, after Layla has tried hers on, we pay, and I successfully buy her the other two skirts for her birthday in a few weeks without her knowing, and I succeeded at clothes shopping, so an amazing day. And now, I tell her what happened as we walk across the ground floor aimlessly.
YOU ARE READING
A Tale of: Ravens, Scythes and Cherry blossoms
General Fiction'All it takes to consult the dead is a pen, some paper, and a secret you've never told anyone else' Hana is the daughter of death, a hereditary position that has existed for as long as mankind has. She lives through each day with the caw of ravens i...
