In the mirror I see a face starring back at me. I look into her blue eyes and ask her why she can’t be perfect.
“Skin’s too pale,” I tell her, “hair’s too frizzy”.
She never speaks in her own defense. Standing there for no more than an hour, we lock eyes, and I make sure she knows she’s not pretty. I make sure she knows she’s not skinny. Who else is going to tell her if I don’t?


In the mirror I see a small white dress hanging on her emaciated frame. She’s paler than I remember.
“A little tanning time is in order” I explain to her.
I can see her starting to get upset, so I leave the room. I leave her trapped in the mirror; I leave my imperfections and insecurities with her.


I walk down the stairs. On my way to the kitchen the first step creeks, then the second, and then the third.
“I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought. If I lose another 5 pounds, the stairs won’t creek as I walk to and from my room.”
Maybe I’m right, I think t myself, and maybe the stairs won’t creek anymore. Maybe I’m wrong; I make a mental “pro/con” list. The “pros” won me over, no breakfast today. I pour myself a cup of coffee, and leave for school without packing a lunch.