The Girl with the Yellow Dress

The Girl with the Yellow Dress

Someone who doesn't need to be liked. That's what I knew this school needed. What is it with these girls lacking all self-respect? Maybe they just need that one person to prove that those so short it should be illegal skirts, that God-awful amount of makeup, and that thing some girls wear as a shirt but would barely be enough fabric to wipe your nose with, is not what makes you worthy as a person. Also to prove that maybe the big shot football star is better off with someone who doesn't mind if he callously slings that mean word directly in front of his friends, without any precaution that it just might sting enough for her to end his whole world with a snap. Let's pretend these people make sense, while I sit back and envy the gorgeous girl in the yellow dress.

This girl is my older sister; graduated top ten percent of her class with more than enough letter of recommendation requests from those who envy her as much as I do. This dress was worn to something that I can't quite recall, but I do know that it's the day that I fully realized just how brilliant she is. Melissa made up my mind concerning how this life of mine is going to play out, and how my success will be built on what I do to make my dreams come true, and not how the term " sleeping your way to the top" is your forever-known reputation among your peers and colleagues. She created the correct scene for a younger sibling to grow up in, something important when a single mom is the only piece of family you have left. The impact she has left on her younger sister, without ever having to say a word, is the only thing that has kept me going, after what happened to dad. Those dumb kids at school who thought they were funny and those teachers, whose words of sorrow, who thought they were actually helping, only made this moment a lot worse. Melissa was my life line. Shortly after the accident, she moved back into my room as if we were kids again. Four years apart, two different points in our lives, the only thing we had in common at this point was our hair and the same sad story. But still she slept in her bed next to mine every night, again, without a word said.

Yellow might not be the ideal color for that not too short, fitted but not tight, and delicate but not flashy dress that only shows that she does, in fact, care what you think. Which is why she wears it-with the knowledge that you would never buy one so similar. Walking down the street with her friends after the event, people still stare, but why? This girl has the perfect face for any movie and the long legs that a modeling agency would kill to see behind a lens. These people simply stop to admire-not to drool over. What's to drool about? Nothing. There's no visible cleavage. She doesn't have to show too much skin to get where she is now, writing top stories for that popular magazine. You might have heard of it, People magazine?

I tell you this story as I sit at my desk with this picture of her in that yellow dress shortly after she walked the stage at our public high school (oh yeah, it was graduation). This dress was later handed down to me. It does, in fact, hang in my closet, waiting for a big day to come along. I am not worried that someone might notice that it is the dress Melissa used to wear; but hope that someone does notice...that I surely am my older sister.