Wearing a dress made from her parent’s credit
cards, and clutching a handbag made of next
month’s rent, a beautiful girl with perfect hair
stands in front of Marc Jacobs on Main Street–
coveting what she cannot have. In several
years, she will hurry past wearing leggings
and a leotard, drinking coconut water and
carrying a yoga mat.
Maybe, by then, she would have married
and raised two kids; maybe, her husband
would end up being less than she hoped for;
maybe, she will catch him cheating and
push him out of a 25th floor window.
Maybe, she will be in jail for murder. Maybe,
as she told the judge, “it was worth it’.
Or, maybe, none of this will have happened,
and she would have forged a glittering career
in public relations or have her own show on
television. Maybe, she would have fallen in
love with a photojournalist and given it all up
to become a UN Ambassador. Maybe, he will
die too soon, and leave her a widow. Maybe,
she will be so heart-broken, that she will never
love again. Maybe, she will pour her grief into
writing a memoir that empowers not only women,
but the entire human race; maybe, one overcast
afternoon she will give a commencement speech
that brings down the roof of every glass house;
and when she is attacked from the right and
the left by the zealots and the bigots–she will
be strong; she will not waver; she will be the
embodiment of grace; and she will prevail.
All I know, with any certainty, is that most
of this will come to pass with me sitting
here in my underwear trying to decide
if I should shave, or not.