She was seventeen- with a pixie hair cut, as she got out of the car.
The hair cut was new and it was brave move.
Just months before she had long flowing hair, half way down her back; but late one night, after a home football game, she chopped it. Just a few weeks later she got the pixie cut- everyone thought it was some kind of female coping mechanism- a way to feel some sense of control- they were right.
"Look at you, your beautiful"
The words surprised her, and burned into her memory.
She had not really even had a chance to acknowledge her grandmother standing in the drive.
Her sweater was sheer and knit light as air- the color a feminine burgundy, almost a rose tone.
The tank top under the sweater was white and soft, with girly detail.
Her denim skirt was shorter than her father would have like it to be.
Her white flats completed the perfect outfit for a wanna-be teen angsty artist type.
It was probably not the first time her grandmother had told her she was beautiful- but it was the first time she heard the words.
"Look at you, your beautiful."
Gliding toward her, her porcelain skinned grandmother cupped the girl's face in fragile hands.
She looked at her deeply, taking her in, as if it was her first time to see her.
"You have grown into such a beautiful woman."
~I write this because I often forget these precious moments, they get lost in all the other things that go on. I know it has been 9 years since I got out of that car in east texas, but I still remember the first time I heard the words. I assure you she said them before- but I don't know that I was listening.~