Fifty Five

I took the stairs one at a time, held and adjusted my dress on the shoulder to prevent it from showing too much skin, or should I say fat. I was wearing a black dress, one of the most decent things I owned and held on to.

I wore the same dress on every occasion, every family outing, picnic, and everywhere we went that wasn't school. No amount of therapy could make me wear another dress. At this point, everyone had stopped convincing me that there were other dresses outside here that could make me look better, beautiful, and more visually appealing or attractive.

All my clothes were meant to help me blend in and not stand out. Black was one of my favorite colors; anything black or dark was my ideal color and piece of clothing. I felt like they hid me from the world, protected me from publicity, covered me like armor, and made me blend in.

Some time back, about two years ago, Sandra's mama had bought both of us a pair of shoes. Sandra and I. It was a good move to establish a good friends