I shave my legs and slip on the miniskirt. I paint on illicit lipstick, a flick of eyeliner. The mirror highlights the curves of my bared shoulders.
Then, I hear a soft pinging sound; it’s my phone alarm warning me. I quickly wash my face, hide the skirt, and put on my jeans again. I make it to the kitchen table just before she walks through the doorway.
“Hello, Hakim,” my mother says, setting down two grocery bags on the counter. She pulls out a bag of shiny red apples and puts them down next to me. “How was soccer practice?”
Loved it.
Me too! Made me smile.
It took me a couple of beats to realize Hakim was, indeed, a boy. I thought the name was male, but soccer could be either and the shoulders sounded female. So much for gender stereotypes. And I was half expecting the story to be about you and your daughters… but it’s certainly made me think!
Very nice work! Really enjoyed this.
Just Great!
Good comment on a timely subject. Well written.