I was thin, my figure was jagged, my movements pointy and hesitant, my posture stiff. The sunlight in the morning illuminated the thin down on my face, which I tried to cover with pressed powder, a shade too pink for my wan complexion. It’s easy for me to imagine this girl, a strange, young and mousy version of me, carrying an anonymous leather purse, or eating from a small package of peanuts, rolling each one between her gloved fingers, sucking in her cheeks, staring anxiously out the window. You might take me for a nursing student or a typist, note the nervous hands, a foot tapping, bitten lip. I looked like a girl you’d expect to see on a city bus, reading some clothbound book from the library about plants or geography, perhaps wearing a net over my light brown hair.
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