by diedre Knight
An uneven line of blinding light blazed through a gap in mother’s heavy drapes. I stood for a time in her room, enraptured by the scent of her perfume. On her dresser was a dazzling assortment of makeup tubes and cases. She was beautiful; I thought as I gazed at my four-year-old self in the mirror. I would be, too, I decided as butterflies fluttered in my stomach.