How could he not hate me?
That’s the only thought that crosses my mind. I recall back to after my graduation and the way my parents immediately reacted. Even when I sat in the hospital my mother and father scolded me for making a scene and being so ridiculous when nothing wasreallywrong with me.
A rustling sound comes from the door. My eyes go to the thin package Andreas slipped underneath. From the size and shape, I immediately know what it is.
Ms. Shelby jumps down, beating me to the door.
When I see the cover of the magazine through the clear, plastic wrapping, I sink to the floor and press my back against the door.
With trembling fingers, I lift the magazine and stare at it. The October 1975Ebonymagazine with Diana Ross on the cover.
This is the final magazine from my list that I’d had taken from me. And my favorite, the one I’d treasured the most out of them all.
But it wasn’t just taken from me.
Ripped away from my hands, torn apart, and then burned.
Bitterness wars with love inside of my chest.
I brush away a single tear. With gentleness, I pull the magazine out of the plastic wrapping and just place it in my lap, staring at it.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
A memory of me giggling with my Aunt Gloria when she first brought this magazine home to show me.
“Isn’t she stunning?”she’d asked me as we gazed at Diana in a white feather hooded shawl. The studded headpiece tilts across her hairline, showcasing a few curls on the left side of her face. To me, she looked like a queen staring into the camera.
“She’s pretty. Like you,”I’d told my aunt. At seven years old, my stunning and stylish aunt looked like she belonged on the magazine cover, too.
The glamour of the photo replicates the styles from the filmMahoganythat Ms. Ross was promoting during this time.
I thumb through the magazine scene from that iconic film in which Diana plays Tracy, an aspiring fashion designer. Throughout the film, Tracy’s style is demonstrated. My first time watching the movie with my aunt I especially adored the scenes where Diana wears a cream-colored, wide brim hat with a long, white coat. She carried herself with such elegance in those scenes.
With reverence, I run my finger over pages of the images, my present day mixing with memories of my past.
“Clothes tell a story, Ivy. If you pay attention, you can read it,”Aunt Gloria often told me.
Not even noise from the opposite side of the door deters me from falling deeper in love with these photos.
And with Andreas.
Something warm and assuring blooms in my chest as I think of the man who gave me the magazine.
Then my gaze falls back to the photo of Diana Ross in a light blue and ivory cat suit, laying on a prop as she smiles. More scenes from the movie flash through my mind. The way Diana Ross’ character fought for what she wanted.
The way my aunt dared to step out on her own, defy her family to chase after the life she wanted.
And then there’s me. Here, alone in my room feeling sorry for myself while the man I love brings me the gift he knew would make me remember who I am.
Ms. Shelby meows and crawls into my lap, forcing me to pick up the magazine out of her way so she doesn’t step on it.
An involuntary laugh pushes through my lips.
No, this isn’t like last time.
It’s nothing like my graduation.
Back then, I was surrounded by a family that made me believe a panic attack was a demonstration of my incompetence and weakness.
