Wednesday, May 9, 2012


Girls I Have Loved for One Moment

Sarah is splashing me in the hotel pool. We can't swim, so we stay here in the shallow end, in the blue, blue water. We don't go in the ocean. She has a pink bathing suit with ruffles, and we are best friends. One morning at the pool her parents are there without her, stretched out on pool chairs. Food poisoning, they say, and I don't see her again. Weeks after I get home, there's a postcard from Canada signed with her name. I keep it in a box on the high shelf in my closet, and sometimes I take it down and look at the stamp and read her name.

Caroline is wearing jeans with legs as wide as skirts, but the waist hugs her hips, and she has on an orange t-shirt, and her long hair is falling in waves down her back. She's standing in the door of our camp cabin with her hand on the wall, the setting sun in her face so she blurs into a silhouette, and beyond her are the trees and the lake, also coated in golden light, and she's so beautiful.

Mary Joe tells me her ancestors left their treasure here, under the rope swing in the playground, and I believe her. She shows me where to dig, her straight blonde hair swinging past her face, she's grinning. We dig for days, a pit that gets nowhere. She says maybe she forgot the place, maybe they buried it somewhere else. We walk in front of empty camp cabins and shout at them, our voices echoing back. She leans down to me and tells me the ghost story again, and I imagine the ghost is behind us, step-dragging his way down the path. Her head is close to mine. She's taller than I am, and warm, and blooming, and worldly.

Alexis doesn't shave her legs, though all the other girls I know started this year. I don't shave mine either. I'm not allowed. I'm stretched out on the floor and she kneels at my head, rubs her fingers on my temples. I close my eyes. She says, you're walking through the forest when the devil appears. He takes his pitchfork and scratches your back with it, scratches and scratches and scratches on your back, scratches and scratches and scratches. I sit up, and she lifts the back of my shirt, and there are red lines on my skin, running over my spine. The other girls crowd around to look, and we shiver in delicious fear.

Megan and I stand on a drainpipe over the creek at the park. Her eyes are ringed in liner, her eyelashes caked in mascara, dark as the curly hair on her head, so that her blue eyes shine that much brighter in her face, her freckles stand out that much more on her pale skin. She has silver hoop earrings all in a row in both ears. She walks along the drain-pipe, arms out, and tells me that she just has to tell her mother what to do sometimes. I am in awe. She is fearless.

Annie folds down the waist of her pajama shorts and peels back the bandage to show me her scar. It's long and raised and the skin is pink and raw. She lets herself fall back on the bed in the small bedroom she shares with her twin. I've never seen her without her twin before. They both have long, tanned legs and arms. They are beauty queens. But now their bodies are not the same. She's missing something her sister has. I sit close to her on the bed, and she talks to me like we've always been friends, and I don't remind her that it isn't true.

Manoelita has glasses and long sleek hair that falls all the way down her back, and when she speaks Portuguese it's the most beautiful thing. We sit at a table in the coconut stand on the beach in Porto de Galinhas, surrounded by tall tan boys and girls with shining wavy hair and she is in the middle of them, laughing and putting her hand on the arm of the boy next to her. She takes the pink straw from my coconut and folds it into a flower and hands it back to me.

Danielle comes into our dorm room and collapses on a chair. She lifts up her shirt and rubs a hand on her flat, tanned stomach. Oh, she says, I'm feeling so fat today. She smiles at us, you know how that is, right? She has dark pixie hair, and a slim body and dimples. She's studying to be a doctor. She leaves condoms in her toiletries bag in the bathroom. Sometimes I can hear her through the wall, having sex with her boyfriend in the shower, crying out. It's always her voice and never his.

Jamie stands in front of the bathroom mirror and spreads shaving cream on her lip, and then calmly shaves it off. She is surprised that I am surprised by this. Don't you do it, she asks, don't most girls? She is unashamed, and to me it is incredibly daring, wildly brave. If there's something you don't like about yourself, she says, something holding you back, just change it. Be who you want to be.

Penny leans against the stone wall, one block up from our school, and reads aloud from the stack of papers in her hands. I stare down at the cobbled street of the Rue St. Jacques, and then back up at her. She is wearing black leggings and a too big flannel over a tank top. She is tiny, with short blonde hair, and a mole beside her mouth, and wide dark eyes. This is the first real conversation we've had. She speaks only when she needs to, but she smiles a lot, and she smokes effortlessly; looks gorgeous doing it. She reads in a low voice, husky smooth, tempered by her British accent. "Is it okay?" she asks, when she's finished reading. "Do you think it's good?" I nod seriously, calmly. But I think she's perfect.

Leanna Moxley is a writer and graduate student in Portland, Oregon. 

92 Comments / Post A Comment

I'm Right on Top of that, Rose

Oooof. That was delightful and made me feel some Capital-F Feelings.


@I'm Right on Top of that, Rose Ohhhh, this all really reminds me of a line from Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit that made me feel some Capital-F feelings (ha, not that the whole book didn't) - I can't really quote it, because I'm terrible at remembering quotes, even ones that make me feel some Capital-F feelings, but it was the part where she goes to the seaside and is walking along a pier, and there is a girl eating ice-cream. Katy? She is eating ice-cream and she looks like fun, yes. This is kind of still my barometer for Capital-F feelings. And this piece made me feel quite a lot like that.

I'm Right on Top of that, Rose

@chensike Oh man, yeah. It's that feeling like I'm nostalgic and sad, because I'm remembering and knowing at that time I didn't know why I felt so strongly at the moment and now I do; remembering how innocent and raw things were. Le sigh.


@I'm Right on Top of that, Rose I'm reading Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit at the moment and just came across that line. I had to come back here to quote it :)

'Katy sat in a deckchair and Katy looked at the sun.
Katy ate an ice cream and Katy looked like fun.'

So many Feelings at this book!


@katiethegreat YES. Thank you.


very well made@m


66 Lines About 10 Women (with apologies to The Nails).

fondue with cheddar

@Lemonnier That was the first thing I thought of. :)


This is very good, but I'm pretty sure I don't like Danielle.

Cat Jail

@frigwiggin Seriously. Grr.


@frigwiggin Danielle gave me sad-feelings in my tummy. I can see her perfectly - so beautiful but so fraught with insecurities. She reminds me of multiple infuriating-ly lovely friends I have had.


Oh this was very pretty and evocative.


This is lovely.


Very, very lovely. It made me nostalgic for people I never even knew.

Nina B.@twitter

Effortless and vivid.

Genghis Khat

I'm feeling so emotional already because of the politics, and this made more emotions come out of my eyes.


@Genghis Khat Emotions coming out of my eyes! I love that. So many emotions in my eyes lately...

Passion Fruit

These vignettes were sweet and vivid; I liked the concept.

BUT, I am going to be a bit of a buzzkill, and say this: It reminded me of my childhood, in that I, too, looked at my beautiful Caucasian girl friends with a mixture of envy and awe and want. And I remember feeling so, so, so ugly because I could, categorically, never look or be like them, never inspire such confusing, overwhelming desire.

And this little collection, on a boring Wednesday afternoon, brought me back to that place of hideousness. Not a fair burden to place on the author, I know. I don't want you to American Girl Doll these stories. But I would like if next time you could include stories about Aishas, Ming Sus, Pritis, Carmens, and their black, brown, olive skin and their kinky curly, stick straight, coarse hair and how much you fell in luuuuuurrrrve with them, if only for one moment.


@Passion Fruit
I grew up in New Mexico, and I was always so jealous of my friend's expressive, warm chocolate brown eyes, dark skin, and thick, jet black hair. I don't know why people don't rhapsodize about brown eyes. I think they are the prettiest things ever.

Inspector Tiger

@Passion Fruit I somehow imagined some of those girls as not caucasian. Only realized that when I read your comment.

Passion Fruit

@The Kendragon Yay! Thank you for sharing this. Warms my cold little heart.

Little Teacup

@Passion Fruit But should she tell the stories of the girls she loved or the girls you wish she had loved?


@Inspector Tiger Me too - no way did I see all these girls as blonde haired and blue eyed?


@Passion Fruit Malini. College.
All of her features were large--big lashy brown eyes, a big sculptured nose and a big pillow-lipped smile--and even though that's not supposed to be the media of beauty or some shit she was gorgeous. She also had a ready laugh and exuded the confidence I lacked at two years older. I remember looking over at her lying on the floor (not as weird as it sounds, we were in the dance group) with her shirt riding up exposing that perfectly flat brown stomach, and I didn't know if I wanted to be with her or wanted to be her.
Now you go.


@The Kendragon secret shameful thing: I have brown eyes (italian colouring from father, shape of eyes from scottish background mother) and I don't get the blue eyes thing. my boyfriend has beautiful dark hazel eyes, I met sooo many blue-eyed guys through online dating and just never quite was happy!


@Passion Fruit
Manoelita did not seem white, I saw a beautiful Brazilian girl(because they're in Brazil and she speaks fluent Portuguese), the hot sun beating down, sweat clinging to her orange sherbet colored top, swim top peaking out, flirting with a boy, and absentmindedly playing with her friends straw. But maybe I'm wrong.


@Passion Fruit I didn't imagine they were all caucasian - only a few mention skin/hair color. They do mainly have caucasian names, but so do many of my friends of other heritages. It's hard to know and we are probably all picturing other people based on who we thought that way about, which is part of why I think it's so powerful.


@Passion Fruit So glad you said this.


My entire family has blue eyes, so I guess I just got used to them. Especially cause they run the entire spectrum. My older sister has dark blue, dad's are grey-blue, little sister has that classic, clear blue, and mom and I have dark blue with a green/brown ring around the pupil.


@The Kendragon My mum's family are like that - she has seven brothers and sisters, and they all have blue eyes. apparently my grandmother used to say she would have liked just one brown eyed child. I guess she must have got excited when my mum met my dad and his dark dark eyes, lol. my brother's eyes are hazel :)

Michaela D@twitter

@sevanetta I have blue eyes myself, and don't get the blue eyes thing. They fade into the whites of your eyes, are crap in strong sunlight, and totally disappear behind glasses...
brown eyes are sexy.


@Passion Fruit - You asked for this, but I am paranoid that it's going to come off as exoticizing because what I thought was so attractive about these girls were mainly their differences from how I looked...
In high sachool:
S., Korean: classic moon-face, big round lips, the most perfect pin-straight jet black hair. She moaned about wanting to perm it into curls and I couldn't bear the thought. That hair was a gift.
K., African-American: Got her boobs and butt early. The opposite of my flat skinny self, she was all curves and legs, her skin was so dark and beautiful and her braided, beaded hair was so cool.

A., Indonesian/Hungarian: She was my friend. She was so beautiful and so disinterested in being attractive to anyone, she was too busy being a cool metalhead and writing zines.

H.E. Ladypants

@The Kendragon One side of my family all has these really, really bright blue eyes and have this crazy, unmanageable blonde hair when we're kids. After my nephew was born my sister and I guiltily confessed to each other that we were secretly rooting for him to have blue eyes and weird blonde hair, just because that's what kids in our family look like and the idea of another one was sort of delightful to us. (And against all odds and a brown eyed dad he turned out to have really, really blue eyes and wild blonde hair. My sister and I had a secret high-five for our recessive genes.)

That said my boyfriend has these enormous, deep brown eyes and I cannot stop telling him how awesome they are. He's Jewish and very middle-eastern/Semitic looking so they're very dark, there's this sort of almond shape to them and he's got these really thick black eyelashes and uuuuugh. I love, love, love those eyes.

If we ever have kids they are all going to look like him (I am a bundle of recessive genes, he is a bundle of dominant ones) but I am okay with that.


@The Kendragon I like brown eyes too. I always kind of wished I had them. Or that my eyes are darker. They're not like super light but I often wish I looked more "ethnic" (esp. in college . . . oh, college).


@Passion Fruit After thinking about it for a minute, I realized that I could fill a comment the size of the original post with the moments in my life in which I've found just non-white girls and women I've known so pretty/cool/electric/powerful that it hurt a little to look at them.

Passion Fruit

@wharrgarbl Thank you, I am so glad to hear that. I mean, I love white girls, some of them are even my best friends*! But I think descriptions of beautiful/magnetic/powerful non-white, American women are scarce.

*Oh snap!

Passion Fruit

@iceberg I am still thinking about this. I wonder if that's what it was, a discomfort with describing non-Caucasian people. I've always taken this silence to mean exclusion, but maybe it means a desire to not offend.

@all Even though this didn't sit well with me, obviously this writing speaks to alot of people. I hate to leave one of those comments like "Enough about babies, Nicole! The world is filled with them!" or "If I never see another doll's head, it won't be soon enough." But with this topic, I am just like "INCLUDE ME, PLEASE. PLEASE, PLEASE INCLUDE ME. I am here,
I exist!"


@Passion Fruit I'm with you; this was a little hurty for me as well. Everyone here is nice with their "oh hey you guys, brown eyes are pretty too," but this piece took me to the feeling of gazing at my beautiful, white, desirable friends and feeling terrible because no one ever looked at me that way. Not that this is about me/us and not that she should have invented girls of color to love for a moment... but this brought me back to that visceral longing of otherness.


@Passion Fruit I think the discomfort with describing non-Caucasians is part of it, yeah. Left to my own devices, a quarter of my list of girls probably wouldn't have overtly read as black, Hispanic, biracial, Asian, or Pacific Islander, because I know enough to want to avoid being the umpteenth person today to (in this case accidentally) exoticize or other them.

But then you run into the problem of accidentally whitewashing them, which is also terrible. The assumption of "white" as the default setting transubstantiates the Korean girl who kicked ass and always looked like she was heading to the beach and was going to school with money she'd earned fueling jets on an aircraft carrier and wore her bangs with a slight curl so they framed her face just right and was absolutely gorgeous into a white girl if the specificity is stripped out.

Passion Fruit

@wharrgarbl Yeah, reducing them to exoticism would be its own gross pile of weird. I think paired with the original stories, though, it could have worked. What I actually found to be very othering was the bit about Manoelita. I was like, "Did you just pull an 'Eat, Pray, Love' here? What the." But then I thought I should give her more credit, be less cynical, more open minded, see with my heart, etc. etc. I don't know, there is something very sincere in her descriptions, but augh, I just can't get into it.

Also, your friend (is she even real??) sounds amazing, oh my word. I am so jealous of this perhaps-fake person!


@Passion Fruit She is totally real and totally amazing. She was a co-worker when I was in college, and she wanted to rejoin the Navy and do something on an aircraft carrier that was more technical than fueling jets once she'd finished her degree.


@bananagram Just because you weren't on this girl's specific list doesn't mean you're not on someone's list somewhere. It's just that you don't always know or find out about it. I had a good friend in the early days of high school, who while otherwise pretty ordinary looking, had amazing sea-green Aishwarya Rai cat-eyes. And I would have died of embarrassment trying to tell her, so I never did, even though we were good friends.


@Passion Fruit Here's the awkward part; like, how do you describe what you find physically beautiful about someone without going into things like skin, eye, hair color, racial characteristics like nose or lip shape/size? I'm not talking about them being awesome people, just talking pure aesthetics here, so maybe I'm too off-topic, but this puzzles me.

Passion Fruit

@wharrgarbl WOOOWWWW. Something about the way you described her bangs and her beach look and her jet fuel and her going to school with the money she earned totally clinched it for me, and I am so envious.

H.E. Ladypants

@wharrgarbl I think the problem is when all physical descriptors indicated whiteness? And any description of someone not white begins with a statement of their race? You can have physical descriptors that do not indicate whiteness without saying XYZ is a Korean/African American, etc. Almond eyes, kinky hair, glowing dark skin, etc. We can describe traits and features of people of color just as well as we can for people who are white.

@Passion Fruit Weird story time: I grew up in a really rural super not diverse place. (There were white kids and native American kids and that was pretty much it.) For some reason when I was a little girl, though, I got it into my head that the most beautiful woman in the world would be half African descended and half Asian descended. I don't know why exactly but my brain determined that combination of features would produce the loveliest lady ever.

One year my parents took us to Disney world. We stayed in one of those Disney hotels and there was a little shuttle bus to take us into the park. One morning and the driver of the bus was this African/Asian American woman. I remember stopping and staring at her, utterly transfixed. Eventually, I got on the bus. When I got off, I remember being hit by a surge of bravery and announcing to her, "You are really, really pretty!"

She smiled at me and said thank you and man. What a beautiful smile.

I've always felt a little weird about this story. On one hand it's a little weird and exoticising of the other. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure she's the only woman I ever felt compelled to tell she was beautiful when I was a child. I still remember her but I usually don't tell the story, for fear of it sounding far too "isolated white girl."

Passion Fruit

@iceberg ETA: I guess what I'm saying is those physical features that are unique to their ethnic makeup SHOULD be added, but maybe not in a yellow fever way?

I wish I could be more articulate about this, but after ten edits, that's the best I can get to.

H.E. Ladypants

@iceberg My personal opinion is that you can describe those things can totally be described in someone of any race. And talking about a lady's eyes, hair, the shape of her lips is a world away from "my black friend who is super pretty."


@H.E. Ladypants Ugh I find it really obtuse not to include race (only if known) in physical descriptions, I would advocate rather for including white rather than leaving out anything non-white.

ETA - I agree that leaving it out because it's the "norm" is icky though, and I've been guilty of it too.

Passion Fruit

@iceberg YES! Thank you! I think that's perfect.

For a short while I described people as white Americans, but I got funny looks, so I wimped out and quit. Maybe I was being offensive, I don't even know.


@Passion Fruit I didn't have the impression that they were all Anglo. I feel sad you got that impression.

Passion Fruit

@Myrtle Hmmm, it's really nice to hear that other women are imagining women of color. I must not be as ignored as I feel. But, I'm honestly quite surprised that so few people thought this when reading it. I guess I'm in the minority.



Passion Fruit

@Passion Fruit (I couldn't help myself, SRY.)

Passion Fruit

@Passion Fruit OK, I wrote some, too. I am afraid they're a bit heavy-handed, but I liked writing them anyways.

Hiba stands in front of her mirror, winding cloth snugly around her face and over her head. Her coarse, black hair, pulled tightly into a low bun, is covered, smoothed over by the silk. Tilting her head to the side, she weaves safety pins here and there, joining her scarf and her shirt. Hiba lines her eyes with kohl, making her already long-lashed black eyes sultry and serious. She lets me watch her get ready every morning, tugging at her sleeves, pushing on her bangles. Hiba, beautiful and confident, Hiba, always covering and uncovering.

Esther sits down on our towel and brushes the sand off her feet. She plays rugby, and though she says she’s no good, I don’t believe her. Her body is short, thick, athletic, with a toned back and a high rear. She brushes her straight black hair, streaked already with silver gray, out of her face. Esther leans back away from the sunset, closes her eyes, making two dark dashes above her cheekbones, and asks if I’m going. No, I say, too tired, too cold, but what I mean is too afraid, too self-conscious. Esther once told me that she has never been ashamed of her body, that she feels it is always on her side, and I am in awe, and I am envious. She gets up, and pulls off her swimsuit, and I can see the day’s sun has turned her yellow-hued skin red and tender. She walks on ahead slowly, casually, looking at nothing and no one but the ocean.

I am on time for lab, but Laura is already there, early and studious. I can never keep up, but she doesn’t hold it against me. Today her thick, springy brown coils have been pulled back and high above her head, into a poof of hair, making her appear more carefree than she is. I have looked at her often enough to know the details of her face: her thick, black eyelashes naturally curled upwards, the gradations of her skin, going from dark brown near her jaws to a more golden, rosier hue on the apple of her cheeks. I’ve begun to count when I see her, because I’ve arbitrarily decided that one and a half Mississippis of staring at her mouth is OK, but a full two is creepy.

Ro sits on the other end of the couch, eyes half lidded, giggling quietly to herself. Cotton mouthed and hazy headed, I call, “Ro?” She doesn’t answer. Instead she reaches behind and under her top, unclasping and pulling off her bra. “Rosa, tell me, what is it?” In her pajamas, she is a pile of sweatshirts, a pile of warmth and softness, a round, fat, inviting body. She slowly turns her head to me, and mightily struggles to open her eyes all the way. “Nothing, it’s just that… sometimes… everything… is so funny,” and she bursts into gasping laughter, shaking silently. I think, not for the first time, that I am in love with her, and watch as she reaches, reaches, always just a bit out of her grasp, for the bag of chips on the coffee table.


@Passion Fruit : This makes me so happy. Thank you for sharing your beautiful girls. :)


I loved this. I love how in a few sentences, you made them so real, and loveable to us as well.


@The Kendragon exactly my reaction, i feel like i miss these people too and i'll never meet them. truly a sign of good writing.


I really liked this and made me wonder if someone remembers me like that and think about how some people live in our brains and they have no idea we treasure something they did or said or the way they moved.


@Mariajoseh I think we can all be sure that someone, at sometime did or does.
I'll never forget the time I ran into a girl at a party or something, and she was super excited to talk to me. Apparently we had been in a class together in high school and she thought I was just the awesomest thing, but she was a grade below me and intimidated.
It felt so weird because I had always thought of myself as eternally being in her position and never the object of adoration, and as a result pretty aware and attentive. But I didn't remember her and don't to this day.


Oh, wow. This is really beautiful. I sometimes suddenly remember friends that I was infinitely close to for tiny amounts of time, and it boggles my mind every time. Glad to know I'm not alone!

By the way, hi everybody! I'm new here. Will you be my friends please? Please?


Wait... what happened to Annie? bladder surgery or something?


@Palmetto I'm guessing she had her appendix out.


@Palmetto Oh, right bladder/ appendix. Now I feel weird and bad that I immediately assumed she was referring to a tail.


@allthepie Oh, huh. Somehow I assumed a kidney donation to her twin.


So did I. I don't know why...


@sniffadee Same!


Reminds me of many women in my life, too. Thanks!


Just gorgeous. x


I'm coming to this a day late, but it's wonderful. Leanna Moxley I was in love with YOU for the moments it took me to read this.

sarah girl

Is this where I can talk about how I just took a six-week belly dancing course, and my instructor looked like a slightly rounder Anne Hathaway and I was just enthralled by her the whole time? She was also very kind and sweet, gah.

This also gave me a lot of Feelings, mainly about high school. Aaaahhhhhh.

H.E. Ladypants

@iceberg @Passion Fruit Fair, I can get on board with that.

Sorry to be commenting all the way down here. For some reason hairpin commenting is full of hate for me today.

Miss Maszkerádi

So, so confused by the discussion here. If we describe a beautiful white girl we're being exclusive and racist, but if we describe a beautiful black girl we're exoticizing and othering? I'm not snarking here i'm genuinely confused about what a good person is allowed to say or not say. I'm really socially retarded so I always fuck up when it comes to things like this and then I get called nasty names. Someone help me understand?


@CountessMaritza : Yes. This.

Because, for me?

Beauty just...is.

I've loved girls and women who were every color of the sun, all sorts of body shapes and sizes, young, old, everything. I've found Irish girls exotic and Zimbabwean girls-next-door...

Writers should write what they know. These women are what Leanna knows.

And to that point... @Passionfruit ...Would you write your own for us? I want to hear about the women you have loved. :)

Passion Fruit

@CountessMaritza Yeah, I think that's the conundrum. It's confusing. I am still figuring out how to talk about WOC in a way that is flattering but not creepy and/or racist. Personally, because there were so few non-white/Anglo physical descriptions and names in the piece, I assumed they were all white Americans (outside of Manoelita). Apparently, most other women did not make the same assumption, which is nice to know.

@OxfordComma OK, I will! I am not a great writer, but I'll work on them. :]

Passion Fruit

@OxfordComma Hi! I wrote some and posted them upthread. It's a little embarrassing, but, lo, I did it anyways.


And for @Passionfruit:

Angela plays bass in a bar that I frequent. She is all 'frohawk and power against the lights, boy-jeans and one of those t-shirts that is artfully ripped--she is hipless and perfect. I am round and not. But she touches my shoulder and says she likes my dress.

I spill every drink I buy after that.

Passion Fruit

@OxfordComma I loved it, awesome.


@Passion Fruit : *grin* Thanks!

Erin Pounders@facebook

This is beautiful writing. Simply lovely. I want to read more from this author.

Harriet Welch

I am 100% not a crying type and this got me misty eyed. I can always think of the girls I have loved for one moment. Particularly the one who shared her headphones so we could listen to Dar Williams, whose belly button I pierced on my porch. We carved matching stars into our ankles and planned trips we would never go on together.
I still have the scar. I've gone on those trips.
Oh how bittersweet I am now.


This is so, so, lovely. (Secretly I want to be Penny.)

And I think of Lauren, whose blonde hair fell around her face as she knelt to pick up our hopscotch stone -- whose jeans were perfectly stonewashed and matched her eyes -- who knew exactly how to act -- who looked so beautiful in the May sunshine.

Miss Maszkerádi

Ellie, the wise and worldly senior to my awkward dorky freshman, petite and impish but perfectly warm and curvy, heart-shaped face and daring pixie cut and one slight snaggletooth, a marvelous imperfection that spiced her smile with a dash of an ironic, winking smirk. She was from the Balkans and could dance all the folk dances in asymmetrical 11/8 time, without looking like she was even trying. Effortlessly classy style, radiated confidence and sexiness, introduced me to pearls and Audrey Hepburn and learning to see myself as a woman, with every woman's birthright to earthly goddesshood. I still have some of the clothes that she bequeathed to me as she was uncluttering her apartment getting ready to move away to grad school, and wear them with reverence and bittersweetness.

Passion Fruit

@CountessMaritza Oh my, snaggletooths! Those'll really get ya!


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