sisters

The Changing Room

“Go on!”

The curtain parts—a shaft of light—and then the hand appears. Something yellow with blue dots swims before my eyes.

“Go on!”

The voice comes again, insisting, inciting. I sit back on the little bench. The changing room is no bigger than a cupboard. A mirror, too big for the confined space, swallows me whole. The dress hangs on the wall like a corpse. I try to imagine myself inside the dress. I imagine mum, her eyes swimming with pride at the two of us, identical yet not identical. Her two little girls like ‘two peas in a pod’. A mirror image.

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