The Quintessence of Macy Jensen

It felt like an eternity before I finally got over the heartache and stopped crying. To think it was all because of one boy; one boy who I knew was going to break my heart. My mother tried to comfort me as best she could, but I had found myself inconsolable. My sorrow washed away any other emotion I could possibly feel, so I was permanently hallow for those long days.

But soon I came from my haze and I was my old self again-give or take a damaged heart. It was Monday, the last day before we went back to school, and I was out with my mother. She insisted on going shopping, thinking it would be a good way to lift my spirits. It was noon by the time we walked into the first clothing store, the one we shopped at religiously. I gripped my purse tighter as people pushed by. My mother sent a smile my way as she pulled me into the young woman’s section. I chewed on my bottom lip as my mother thrust flowery sweaters and baggy jeans in my face- all of which were too expensive or too-not-my-type. I sighed to my mom before handing her back the clothes. “Mom, I don’t need new clothes.” She rolled her eyes before shoving another article of clothing in my folded arms. “You want to catch boys’ attention, don’t you?”

I laughed cynically, if she only knew. But the thing was, if I ever told her about Brett and how crazy my life has been lately-she would have never believed it for one second. I was Macy Jensen-the girl who had the appeal of a potato. But I just smiled as my mother informed my of what was “in” this season, and what was soon to be out and what was “trampy.”

She lectured me on color-blending, color blocking-and how it could be disastrous-and how most boys didn’t enjoy the random pair of earrings that didn’t match the outfit. Eventually we walked out of the store with five bags in each of our hands. I looked at the adjacent clock to see it was a bit past three-we had spent at least three hours in that sole store. My mother looked at me with contempt when she dragged me into another store and I hastily tried to pull away. We stood side-by-side as my mother roamed through the clearance rack, and as I let my eyes wander.

I took in a deep breath as my cloudy irises noticed Brett Marston standing in the far corner with the child-Amelia- in his arms and his mother, I assumed, browsing the clothes. Fortunately Brett hadn’t noticed me for he was too busy preventing the waterworks that were soon to spill from the girls’ eyes. My mothers’ brute voice caused Brett to look up and see me, a frown fading on his lips. He turned around soon though, cuddling his “sister” into peace.

I suddenly had the indescribable urge to leave the store; run far enough away so Brett wouldn’t have the urge to look for me-if he did in the first place. I just wanted to go home, sit in my room and fall back into hating myself and the things I let happen.