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”“Weird,” I said.“Oh, is that what had you up all night?” My friend grinned, her face a younger version of her mother’s. “She’s a scaredy-cat. She won’t see any horror films.”“I can’t handle the stress,” I said. “It’s not fun. I don’t get why you love them, Lana.”“Because they make me feel sooooo alive.” Lana darted to me. “Now we’re on cupcake duty. And then we have to go out and buy the drinks and chips. Mom gave me a budget.”“And you’ll stick to it,” Mrs. Teller said, disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen.It was weird around Mrs. Teller. All day we kept bumping into each other as I helped Lana get ready for her party. And we always just looked at each other, both of squirming. I wanted to seize her, to tell her I didn’t have the cock and she didn’t have to run. That we could love each other. I didn’t care that she was married.But she was embarrassed. I was just a kid. Sixteen. Not a sophisticated adult. And there was guilt, too. She had known me all my life. I was her. To be honest, it was hard to decide where life ended and dreams began.In the morning's fresh light I sat at the dressing table, with the stoolbeneath my bare bum, and stared into the mirror.A woman stared back. It was like the dream from last night, with thesunshine and the cool morning air and a woman sitting before a mirror.This time she was perfectly naked and this time there was no EddieFisher standing just behind her watching her apply her lipstick.This time she was Eddie Fisher."It's really okay," I said in my chocolate and satin voice. I smiled atmy reflection and it smiled back. If it were a dream the lipstick,mascara and eye liner would be on the dresser, but they weren't. Therethey were, in the drawer I'd swept them into during the night,carelessly laid atop a cream bra, some flowery panties and a packagedpair of sheer, black tights.What could I do? Scream and shout, smash the mirror, throw those woman'sthings around the room? Beat my breast, tear my hair? The police.
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