Invisible

You know when you’re dreading doing something and the time leading up to it flies by quicker than you’d hoped? That’s exactly what happened with me and the modelling experience. I willed the time to pass slower, yet each time I did so, the time just passed faster and faster.

On the morning of the modelling workshop, I woke up with a feeling of unease deep in the pit of stomach. Groggily, I made my way into the bathroom to have a shower and wash my hair. As the water fell from the shower head, unexpectedly, tears spilled from my eyes. I don’t know what provoked this sudden burst of emotion, but I cried because of my dad. For the first time since he died, I dared to shed a tear.

’Addy, come out side please!’ my dad’s deep voice called from the back yard on my sixth birthday. He was the only person I allowed to call me Addy – it was his special nickname for me. I ran outside, as I reached the door, I stopped and gasped.

On the grass stood a new, pink, shiny bicycle, I ran over to him and hugged him tightly.

‘I love you daddy,’ I said in a small, sweet voice.

‘Do you want to give it a go?’ he asked me hopefully.

‘Yeah!’ I near enough screamed.

I hopped on the bike and my dad planted his arms on my waist as he guided me up and down the garden. Giggling with delight, I looked up at my dad, the obvious happiness on his face making me enjoy the ride even more.

We kept going round and round, back and forth, as the wind blew through my golden brown hair, I felt as though I was flying. Caught up in the moment, I didn’t even realise my dad had let go and I was pedalling around the yard of my own accord.

My dad stood near the door, proudly smiling at me.

‘Keep going Addy, you’re doing great!’ he called. I rode round once more before jumping off the bike and running into my dad’s open arms. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he said into my hair as we hugged. It was one of the best feelings I’ve ever felt. In my father’s embrace I felt safe and happy.

I stepped out from under the flow of steaming hot water and looked in the mirror. My eyes were red from the amount of crying I’d done, although I was so sad, I finally felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Slipping on some jeans and a t-shirt, I ran down into the kitchen to find my mum sitting at the table sipping on a mug of hot coffee.

‘Hey maman*,’ I said, using the little French I knew to greet my mother.

‘You ready for this?’ she asked, obviously more excited than I was.

‘Yeah,’ faking a smile for her sake, ‘it’s going to be so much fun.’ I lied.

‘Well, come on the, we have to leave!’ she said, getting up from her seat and grabbing her car keys.

We sat in silence on the way to the modelling place. My mom tried to spark a conversation, only receiving monosyllabic answers from me, so after a while she took the hint and stopped trying.

The uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach grew as we drew closer to the location. I hoped that it was all a dream, but after the car stopped and my mum got out – I realised it was all real.

Slowly, I took off my seatbelt and vacated the car. My legs felt as though they weren’t flesh, but lead as we walked into the building.

The brightly lit studio caused me to squint, getting my eyes used to the harsh lighting and the almost constant flashing of the camera. Almost as soon as I stepped foot in the room, a very tall, blonde haired lady stood in front of me.

‘Name?’ she asked rather harshly.

‘Jessica Rousseau.’ I answered quietly, not being able to find my voice.

‘Okay, Jessica, come this way please.’ She said walking off before I even had the faintest chance to respond. I quickly hugged my mum and ran off behind the woman.

‘Okay guys we have one more for you to do!’ she shouted to the team of stylists, make up artist and camera guys who were dotted around the room.

I was pulled into a chair and someone began messing with my hair and brushing it violently, actually, I’d say it was more whacking me in the head than anything. I sat and looked at the guy in the mirror as he styled my hair, making it look effortlessly amazing. He put it into loose curls which just rested on my shoulders.

After I had my hair done, I was put into the hands of the stylist – Fran. She was by far the nicest of all the people I’d met. She talked to me like I was a human being, not someone who had the mental age of a four year old. As she suggested clothes for me to wear, we talked, only trivial things, but it was still nice to have some sort of conversation. She told me that the theme for the shoot was Prom Night, and that all of the girls (there were 5 of us) would all be dressing up as though we were going to prom.

We spent ages trying to find the best thing for me to wear, eventually we settled on a green and black Thread Social dress with black Marc Jacobs pumps.

Stepping into the dress and looking in the mirror, I felt like a princess. I glanced up and down my usually pale and thin body, for once actually liking what I saw. I by no means thought of myself as ugly, but I certainly didn’t think I was gorgeous. But at that moment – I was thinking I could’ve been wrong all along. My legs looked long and slender, dress nipped in at the waist, creating curves, my make up complemented my pale skin tone perfectly.

‘JESSICA ROUSSEAU! You’re up!’ the tall woman I met when I came in shouted at me, rather than to me.

Suddenly, the long lost feeling of dread returned.