Bonnie N. Wright | District 7 | Finished

  —Bonnie Noel Wright— 

"And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul."

-John Muir

Name: Wright, Bonnie N.

Age: Eighteen years

Gender: Female

District: Seven

Faceclaim: Lauren Lebouef

 It only took one minute. I stood, cringing at the hanger hung on the hook. Flowers were stitched into the dress, kissing it with an age that was long gone. It hung loosely on the hanger with little to no wrinkles compressed into its fabric—no one even considered trying on the dress prior to this and I knew that. My dad, however? He was about as oblivious as he'd always been. What made today different? Today was the first time I'd be purchasing a dress without my mom right above my shoulder, giving me her opinion. Today, I had my dad.

 I pulled off my school uniform, the long days sweat clinging to my back. The dress found itself on me with ease, dropping over my chest and snugging at my hips. It was tainted with a brown that looked merely like mustard and was complimented with faint pink flowers that did everything, but compliment the dress. It made my complexion look paler than what the sun blessed me with, and hung on my shoulders about as freely as it did on the hanger. I could barely recognize my figure that I had so long acquainted myself with—in this I had no pudge when I bent over or barely any breasts.

 My dad poked his head into the dressing room, his reflection in the mirror about as similar to my own. Despite his older age, I mimicked his still noticeable blonde hair. Mom used to say that I looked much like him when he was younger—however, that I was exceptionally pretty, in the case that I received that from her. My eyes crossed the dressing room, looking over to the same set of eyes that I maintain, but were my fathers. His green eyes held something different than mine did. They held memories, and the way they sagged told of his years of work—his eyes told of time.

 My eyes perceived something different, perhaps. Youth or maybe even hope. Nonetheless, I am not half of the human my dad is. And I'd have to witness some serious hardships to even come close.
"So Cinnamon Bon," He said, eyeing the dress on me, "what do you think?"
What did I think? The dress was atrocious. What did I say?
 "It's great, dad." I forced a smile, noticing the lateness of the day peaking behind him through the window. I see his hand fidget on the curtain—he's ready to go home. He wants to see mom and show her the dress in hopes she'd be so proud of him and his achievements with their baby girl. He just doesn't want to disappoint her. That's what their love is. And that's exactly why I'm going to attempt to make this dress—this rag with floral print and a few buttons, my favorite dress.

 Some would consider it kind that I do that. Some would consider it pathetic. Ever since our paycheck has been in benefit for mom, my two older brothers have been working more and we've forced ourselves on a budget. But we always get a reaping dress. So why would I let my dad buy me this hideous dress? Because you didn't see the smile that crossed his face when I told him it was great on his first try. That was his hope. That after what happened, he could maybe maintain a successful life without her.

 None of us wanted it to come to that, but life was sending us signals. We used to be an ideal little family five short months ago. My two brothers graduated from our school, both serving their lives under my father in the lumber industry. My mother was an editor at The Post in the middle of the district. It was storming, it was late, and she had only been walking home for a minute and she was dressed dark.

 Some say she set herself up for it, some say it was freak accident, and others say it was just a simple task of fate. That night in the midst of a mere horror story, my mother lost her ability to be a woman. She was hit by a vehicle—whether it was one of the wealthy or the capitol, the peacekeepers didn't release. Regardless, that night—that Wednesday night, my mother was paralyzed and now, five months later, she has yet to regain any feeling below her waist.

 Our life changed without a second unscathed. I had to take over mom's job at The Post during the early stages of her recovery and my father and two brothers had to double their hours to make sure she could keep her stay in the infirmary until the doctors could give the "okay" for her to come home.
"Alright, honey, I'll be outside. Come out when your done." My dad croaked, interrupting my thoughts as he stepped back outside the curtain.
 I watched as the curtain slowly stilled itself. "It'll take just a minute." I faltered, looking at the hems on the dress. And for a minute when I looked into the mirror, I saw my mom right behind me, fixing the tag.
A lot can happen.
And it only takes one minute.