I stand there, in front of the mirror, still unsure about all of this. I still can't feel anything about my father in this room. Nothing screams out at me, not like the library. I keep looking at myself, while I start changing my clothes. I really should be doing this is the other room, but it so needs some cleaning. What to do first?
I'm down to my briefs before I even realize it. I look at myself again. I can't help but think about Sam and his shirt, the buttons flying off in every direction. When I was a kid, I used to pretend that I was a giant, growing to huge proportions. My clothes ripping off my body as I grew. Typical fantasy for guys on the shorter side, like me. Sam doesn't have that problem. I once searched online for stories about giants, when I was in college, of course. Some of the things I found, well, I never went back to that website.
I keep looking at myself. A little bit of tummy over the waistband. A tiny bit of music tone. I barely realize that I'm flexing my muscles, what few I have. Still that little kid, wanting to be bigger. Uh, oh, one of the side-effects of my pretending I was a giant was that part of me sometimes did get bigger. I was too young to know what it meant, at the time, but now I do as it is happening again. I don't need this. I thought I took care of this last night.
I rip my gaze from the mirror. I run to the bathroom, but only to splash water on my face. I can't do this again, not now and not this soon. I make sure that water doesn't get into my eyes, as I can't be certain there's a fresh towel, and I would need to see it if there were. Fortunately, there is. I dry off my face as I cool down. The room is fairly big, considering it shares some space with the main bathroom in front of it. This one if probably the larger, if only by a few feet.
Still nothing I can relate to my father. I find some perfumes, flowery hair-care products, a woman's cartridge razor; but nothing that seems like it is my dad's. Even the towels are that strange shade just between pink and purple that one associates with My Little Pony, unicorns and pegasi and such. The floor tiles are just a hint lighter with the walls more purple. At least the tub and toilet are white. Who would want so much pink?
I quickly leave the room before I start thinking about getting "big" again. I keep the same briefs on (best not tempt fate to look there right now), but I change my socks to this weird argyle in navy and grey. They don't really match my shirt, but then few pairs would. I skip on the dress shirt, making sure that it's unbuttoned. It has gotten a tiny bit tight in the shoulders and stomach, but I still think it fits well. As well as it can with the top button missing. I don't remember when it came off. I have the replacements somewhere. Maybe I will try to sew one back on. More likely try to find someone else to do it. Next come the slacks, jet black and slim fit. Sure, they are a little tight in the front, but they do make me look better from the rear. At least they make it look like I have a rear.
I forego the tie. This event doesn't look like it would be that formal. I spray on some more cologne. I probably should have washed off a bit more, maybe put on some more deodorant, but I think this will be enough. I probably should have shave some, too, but I like the stubbly look. It helps define my otherwise weak jaw. The belt slips on easily. Brown leather, even though it breaks all sort of fashion rules, but it is my best looking belt. The dress shoes come last--black oxfords, totally clashing with the belt. What can I say? I developed this look back when I was in college, and I see no reason to change.
And for the record, I don't always look this way. But tonight, it feels perfect.
I leave the room just in time, as I almost bump into Sam as he leaves the bathroom. He's dressed in my white shirt, and looking much better than I do in it. The slim fit suits him perfectly. His hair is slightly wet, either with spray or water, I can't tell, and it's perfectly combed. The khakis hang just loosely enough to show that they fit. He's still wearing the sneaks, but somehow, everything works on him.
"What are you wearing?" he asks. "That shirt is something else." He barely manages to suppress a laugh.
Yeah, he looks way better than me, and he's still growing. He can only get even better looking.
"Come on. We don't want to be late, and we have to stop and eat. Unless you're not hungry."
A growl from Sam's stomach put that thought to rest.
No comments:
Post a Comment