To Perceive an Image

Forty-Two: Images of My Best Birthday

Maryanland, September 30, 2040 3:00 PM

"You look so fucking cute right now, please stay still. I need a picture," a squealing Sapphire said. Dainty and yet calloused fingers adjust flyaways around my face. A butterfly claw clip held my curly hair in a messy bun with my face-framing curls falling about. Well, as disheveled as curly hair can look cute in its natural habitat type messy.

I let my friends decide my look for today, as they have an eye for that stuff. I do too, but I let them have fun with this every year. It has become a tradition.

This year, their fashion of choice was a midi wrap dress number. My face dons light makeup that works to enhance my natural features. I can't say it's not doing its job well. My cheekbones have never been this enhanced and highlighted, not to forget the subtle glow on my face. My favorite part is the reddish color on my cheeks and lips. I look good, all thanks to the giddy people around me.

"This is the millionth set of pictures you've taken since we got here," and that wasn't long ago. We arrived at this beautiful garden pond a mere half an hour ago. My friends spent thirty minutes using all their might to force me to sit down while they set up a generous picnic.

What used to be a gingham bedsheet acted as a cloth for us to sit on to a copious amount of my favorite food; they thought of it all.

Ever since that fateful moment, my friends sat me in various aesthetically pleasing poses to take as many pictures of me as they pleased. I wonder how their phones still have storage. Mine has been intact for years now.

I look at Sapphire, who had an eyebrow raised, "and? Your point?"

I roll my eyes at their sassy remark. How dare I stop them from taking as many pictures as they want? The nerve.

Lyaly adjusts my dress in a way that has it expand its full size around me. My legs almost glow because of the multiple sensitive skin products I slathered on my body. That alone makes the pain of waxing worth it. Although I neither flinch nor react whenever I go through the torture of waxing.

After she moves it to her liking, she steps back to bring her attention to her professional camera. "Look here, Aza. Smile, pretty girl," her words make me blush out of shyness. Years of friendship, and I can still never get used to their compliments. Because each one of them never neglects to convey sincerity.

I lift the corners of my mouth in a genuine smile, looking at the camera for the picture. Sapphire ditches their phone and goes to stand next to Lyaly. They both look at the camera's viewfinder with giant smiles on their lips. The twinkle of adoration sparking in their eyes brightens my smile.

After a few poses and smiles here and there, I suggested we take photos with each other, and they agreed. A million and a half pictures later- we are finally ready to eat.

My stomach makes an embarrassingly loud noise, making me fold into myself, clutching it with both arms.

My friends, however, find it amusing.

"Same, Azail's stomach, same," Lyaly coos, patting my tummy. Her mother cooked us a feast of foods I enjoyed. I would've had an authentic Iraqi lunch, but my mom didn't want to cater that. So we're settling for what we have. I will say that Lyaly's mother did a wonderful job. There are a few foods I had after moving to the US that my tastebuds adore. Sloppy joe, mashed potatoes, and chicken pot pie are a few examples.

Sapphire brought their love and support.

Just kidding, they brought all my favorite fruits, which are many, along with my favorite snacks.

The idea of loosening the knot around my stomach sounds divine. I've tied it painfully tight from the fear of it becoming undone and giving me my Monroe moment. I was smart enough to wear long shorts under it, although that's a common practice for any dress.