THE DRESS - by Joyce Lee Wong- Seeing Emily.

Saturday afternoon,

strolling through the mall

with Nick.

Everything seemed brighter,

the lights shiing

inside the stores,

and the thump of bass beats

from the music store,

the melted butter smell

from the theaters

mixed with the stink

of stale cigarettes smoke,

the heady drift of smoke

as we walked into

the department store.

I noticed girls

noticing Nick,

watched them look

from him to me

and felt their envy, palpable

as the static electricity bursts

made by our shoes

scuffing against carpeted floor.

I walked taller, savoring

the weight

of his arm

around my shoulders,

the tingle of my skin

where his hand

brushed my arm.

When I caught a glimpse

of our reflection in a mirror,

I almost believed

the girl

beside Nick

could be pretty

since he'd chosen her.

He leaned down to point something out

and I smelled, faintly

the sweetness

of shampoo

ad the scent

of his skin,

"Look," he said,

his breath warm

on my cheek.

It was a mannequin

clothed in a dress

bright with a tropical print,

the fabric cut low

to show stiff, white curves

of fake breasts,

the sarong skirt

falling open

to bare a slim,

plastic thigh.

"You'd look fantastic,"

Nick said, "wearing that."

Something about the dress

bothered me, but I couldn't

quite say what it was.

"I'm not sure it's my style," I said.

"You'd look exotic, Hawaiian

or Polynesian. Just try it on."

WhenI hesitated

he put his mouth

to my ear

and whispered, "Please."

He reached out

and touched the fabric

of the dress

as gently.

I shivered.

"Okay,"

I lifted

the dress from the rack

and walked to the fitting room.

aware all the while

of his hand, warm

on the small of my back,

as we walked.