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September 7, 2010
Three days later, Sonia hurried back to her dorm, fumbled to get her key in her door, and once she got in, dumped everything on her neatly made bed. She glanced at Becky’s side of the room, which was a haphazard mess of discarded clothing, crumpled food wrappers, and empty soda cans.
She felt butterflies in her stomach as she clutched the envelope so hard it wrinkled. Sonia hoped the letter she got from her mother contained something that would help her find calm again.
The room she shared with Becky felt like the safest place on campus. Her bed was pushed against the wall right beside the door. The two women set up a little snack center between their beds. A mini-fridge sat under a table, and the shelf above it held boxes of crackers, cookies, drinks, bags of pretzels, and a bag of candy, but they didn’t share snacks the way Sonia had hoped they might. Last year, the two shared drink and snacks and watched TV together, but Becky was distant this semester. Sonia felt a hollowness inside her when she looked at the snack area they didn’t use together this semester.
Sonia had made an appointment to see a local optometrist, Dr. Miller, right after hanging up with her mother. But not yet knowing the true cause of the blurry vision had given her mind plenty of time to imagine terrible scenarios. Sonia even surfed the internet reading about various diseases that caused blurry vision.
Sonia’s bed was made; the bedspread was pulled up and her sleeping pillow plus three decorative pillows leaned against the wall. The vision board she made last year was over her bed. In the center of her vision board, she pasted a woman wearing a chic navy-blue Chanel suit. On the vision board was the word “inspire”, a picture of the Chrysler building, and the dress from “Project Runway” inspired by the building.
On the other wall her bed was against, she’d hung pictures from magazines—outfits she admired, a restful scene of the sun rising over the ocean, a beautifully set table heavily ladened with a feast of fresh bread, a pasta dish, and a beautiful cake.
Sonia turned away from her collection of artfully arranged pictures and looked at her roommate’s messy bed. She sighed.
Their desks were as opposite as their beds. Sonia kept all her books neatly arranged on the bookshelf beside her desk. Her desktop held a desk organizer full of pens, pencils, rulers, paper clips, and highlighters. The other thing on her desk was a box of colored pencils, the giant artists quality set she’d received from her mother a few days before this year started, that she could use as she designed clothing.
She sprawled across the bed, not even caring if her shoes got on her bedspread, and yanked open her bookbag. Sonia felt like regaining her equilibrium was riding on this letter. Her mother didn’t know how much she wanted to be comforted by what she read. With just a word, her mother could soothe her and take away her worry, while criticism from her mother sent Sonia into a tailspin.
Sonia’s hands trembled as she carefully opened the envelope, desperate for the comfort of her mother’s words. She hadn’t realized how heavily the weight of worry sat on her until this moment, when she was so close to relief.
As she unfolded the pages, Sonia’s breath caught at the waft of familiar perfume. She blinked back sudden tears, remembering all the times she watched her mother dab perfume on her wrists.
Glancing at the first page, Sonia’s shoulders sagged. Her mother’s focus was on fashion, not comfort. Sonia pictured her mother hunched over these pictures, carefully selecting each image, oblivious to her daughter’s suffering. A sob lodged in Sonia’s throat as the hollow pang of disappointment washed over her.
She smoothed them against the bed before reading. Her mother had sent her three pages, her loopy script only visible at the top of the first page:
Darling Sonia,
Take these pictures to the optometrist’s as inspiration.
Her mother’s writing was also beneath each of the pictures she had pasted on the pages. The first page contained pictures of Edith Head and Manolo Blahnik. Edith had her hair in a sleek bob and wore blue tinted round sunglasses, a look she perpetually wore throughout her career. Sonia had seen pictures of Manolo Blahnik before, and knew he wasn’t as strict as Edith with his look. In the picture her mother had selected of Manolo, he was wearing tortoiseshell frames, a white button-front shirt, and an aubergine jacket, turned back at the cuffs and adorned with buttons. What are you trying to tell me, Mother?
Sonia bit her lip and shook her head as she looked at the pictures her mother included in her letter. She threw that page aside and pulled the next page closer to her face. One large picture was centered on this page, with the label “Vivienne Westwood”. Vivienne wore a pumpkin-colored sweater that matched the color of her hair. A graphic cream and gold scarf that sported bold black lettering was draped around her neck. The glasses she wore looked like they came straight out of the 60s: chunky, ivory acetate frames. Sonia swallowed hard, hoping the last page gave her what she was looking for—some words of reassurance—and tossed the second page to the floor as she brought the third page up to her face.
Tears pricked her eyes as she saw a picture of Karl Lagerfeld. The caption for the photo literally read, Karl Lagerfeld is rocking his signature dark glasses, slicked back hair, and a sharp suit. She scanned the page and felt a moment of relief as she spotted her mother’s handwriting at the bottom of the page. Sonia was sure her mother would give her some encouragement in this paragraph.
You can see for yourself how powerful eyeglasses can be in making your signature look. These influential and recognizable designers used their eyeglasses to accentuate their look. This is an opportunity, darling. Not something to worry over. Stop imagining horrible illnesses, debilitating diseases, and blindness for yourself. This is but a tiny bump in your road to success, meet it with courage.
Much love,
Mom
At long last, the words she was longing for, not something to worry over. True, her mother focused mostly on fashion advice, but she had still included those words of comfort.
Sonia could hear a key rattle in the door, and it swung open as her roommate came into the room, huffing under the weight of her bookbag.
Becky was tall and had a head full of thick, chestnut curls that tumbled down her back. She was on the basketball team, which her mother bemoaned, saying Becky had the right height to be a model.
“Whatcha got there?” Becky asked.
“My mother just sent me a little encouraging note.”
“Looks like a collage to me.”
“These are important designers who wear glasses. My mother wanted me to have inspiration from them and the choices they made in creating their signature look.”
“Are those pictures going to snap you out of your funk?”
“What funk?”
Becky snorted. “OK, have it your way.”
She moved to her desk, pulled text books and her laptop out of her bookbag, and piled them on her desk. She flung her empty bookbag onto her bed, adding to the messy pile already there. She pushed aside empty soda cans and yesterday’s jeans to make room on her cluttered desk.
Sonia shook her head at the state of Becky’s side of the room.
“Did a tornado rip through here while you were getting dressed?” she asked.
Becky glanced over at the mess of sheets and clothes.
“I guess I was in a hurry this morning,” she said with a shrug.
Sonia looked at Becky’s back as she sat at her desk and typed on her laptop. I could talk to Becky about my eyesight. Sonia’s breath caught in her throat, knowing that she really needed to keep this to herself. Becky had so much stress piled on her over the summer: a house fire, her brother was hurt in the fire, and some painful tension between her parents. Sonia didn’t completely understand because Becky had been unwilling to tell her much.
Since we moved in together last year, Becky hasn’t understood my wanting to be a fashion designer. I can’t talk to her about worrying it might not come true.
Sonia felt something click into place in her brain and she looked at her mother’s note on the last page again. “Signature look” her mother had written. Wasn’t that just what she was trying to figure out from the display in Professor Eller’s classroom? She needed a signature look for her fashion line, and what better place to start than a signature look for herself?
Sonia closed her eyes, allowing the world to momentarily fade away, then took a deep breath, the rhythmic inhale and exhale a silent reassurance that echoed her mother’s comforting words. I promised myself I wouldn’t go spiraling out of control here in college. I’ve got to focus on the fact Mom encouraged me to think about my future. I’ve got an eye appointment, I’ll get glasses, and everything will be fine.