Cinderella's Diary

ONE

I dedicate this book to Mayer and others, who believed I could write a love story. Forgive the typographical errors. I shall polish them when the whole book is finished. Thank you for reading!

ONE

        I first sketched a naked man in college. I was in an art class that required students to copy real-life inspirations. The brush trembled in my right hand. My strokes muddled and unrefined. But I grew used to it in time. Nothing made more sense than the magical burst of colors in a plain canvass. Painting murals, charcoal sketching, pastel coloring—these were my innate instincts—talents if you will. Masterful in most forms of the given art, I thrived in the world of surrealism, impressionist, cubism and abstract.

What I understood and experienced in real life though, was sort of second to none. I was a goody two-shoes kind of girl. Straight in my ways, predictable and never one to spend late night outs at parties. Still, I did get a kick out of it, because of my best friend. Katherine was the opposite of me. If I was a wallflower; she would undoubtedly be the life and darling of the party. It’s not like she means to garner all the attention. She just does. That’s just the way she is. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Even going as far back as high school; Katherine was always special.

I hadn’t noticed my outlines turned too dark. So I carefully brushed it with my thumb. Spreading out the blackness of charcoal and forced it to move out in other areas. Expectedly, I watched the alterations of its shadings in the twinkle of light. Outside, the sun started to set. But I could care less, really. It’s my first visit back to school after such a long time. The creation of digital animation wasn’t exactly my dream. But it was close enough and the pay was good. In these still moments, I relish my true self. A side of me I refrain from showing at work. Tonight, I am relieved of my projects and can concentrate on portraits copied from clients’ photographs.

I remember Katherine call me one night, “Oh, Please will you make us one of your wonderful portraits.” She was giddy and excited. Like a school girl, instead of the thirty-year old adult woman that she was. “For the wedding,” she added “Please oh please my dearest Cinderella, if you aren’t so busy at all…” which in Katherine’s sweet manner of persuasion, meant I couldn’t say no. I mean how could I? How could anyone in their right mind refuse such a sweet, polite request? So as always, I relented, sighing I moved the receiver of the phone to my right ear and agreed, “Fine…I’ll make you one of my finest charcoal portraits,” I slipped a piece of mojo-potato into my mouth “Only if you’d be so kind to pick it up personally.”

I heard her pout even before she did. I could imagine it well and clear, “Oww…men bummer! You know I can’t come half way across the world, just to see you…” she teased “I know you miss me, that’s why you want me to get that portrait from you.”

“Hmm,” I mused. Playing along with her “You practically own a trust fund more than the banks allow. Besides, don’t you want to come see it for yourself?”

“You know its Charles whose rich not me,” she paused and tapped her fingers on the phone, “You’re richer than I am.”

“Yeah right,” I laughed good-naturedly “Not that I recall. Last time I checked I’ve been working two jobs to pay rent.”