All I want for Christmas is Yoon

“Thank you.” The words are the encouragement I need.

“Now that I know what you’re packing for ...” Ava picks up my duffle bag and turns it upside down.

“Hey.”

“I can’t let you go like this.” Rolling her eyes, she points at me. “You want to catch their eye and tell a story with your clothing.”

“What story am I trying to tell?”

“I’m interesting, chic.” She strikes a pose and then bats her eyelashes. “And doing this for my baby sister.”

“And you know how to tell all of that with clothing?” I ask skeptically.

“You may be a magician with a make-up brush, but I’m a surgeon with articles of clothing.” She skips over to my closet, and I feel a spike of fear. I’ve never been as daring as my eldest friend. When it comes to my face, I’m fearless. I enjoy trying bold colors, putting sparkles on everything when I’m in the mood. Distorting or accentuating different features is a challenge I strive to reach. I don’t limit myself to fashion beauty, I enjoy theatrical and horror looks as well. It’s where I express myself and purge the good and bad vibes that come out of me.

Clothes drift onto my bed as Ava turns into a mad scientist, mixing and matching to create a vision only she sees. She shakes a sheer, white dress with white polka dots overlaying the white dress.

“I haven’t worn that in years.”

“Mmhmm.” She holds it up to me. “Hold this.” I press it to my body, and she pulls down my hat boxes. Resting the pink and white striped bins on the bed, she riffles through them. She chooses a straw hat with a ruffled edge and a pink strip of leather around it with a buckle. Plopping it on my head, she gathers my hair in two fists. “With pigtails and light, fresh make-up, but highlighted freckles.” She hums. “Shoes. Shoes. Shoes.” Turning, she moves to the bottom of my closet. She holds up a pair of white canvas shoes. “This is it.”

I glance down and frown. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I feel it.” She grabs her breast, referencing one of our favorite movies, and I laugh.

“Oh yeah? Your tit is tingling, and it’s saying this is going to earn me a spot on the show?”

“Yes, it is.” She bobs her head, cartoonishly.

“Lies,” I say in a sing-song voice.

“Facts.” She taps the end of my nose.

“Fine,” I concede.

“Excellent.” Rubbing her hands together, she beams. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

“Brat.”

She sticks her tongue out at me. “This is how I feel when you use your common sense and logic on me.”

“That’s different.”

“Seems like a bit of poetic justice to me.”

“Evil woman.” I carefully fold the dress and place it into my bag. “Happy?”

“Very.” She starts to put back the clothing, and I repack the essentials.

“Are you guys going to make a weekend of it?”

“I think getting away for a bit would be nice. The walls here hold ghosts. Every corner is a trigger for a memory, and each person looks at us with pity.” I glance at the family picture that rests on my dresser from happier times. “It’s hard to move forward when it feels like your surroundings are keeping you in the past.” I place my hand over the top of the clothing piled in the bag.

“I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but I’m here to help, however I can.”

I look at her and smile. “You do that by continuing to treat me the same and never judging me.”

“This will always be a safe space.”