Le liked walking through the crowded side walks of Washington D.C, the heart of where she knew belonged to her. She often went by the Potomac River for long walks. She stood, watching the dark water that glowed with the reflection of the stars. People told her she was pretty; she believed them. Le liked watching faces, reading them, observing them. She could sit for hours just to watch the faces that passed her; they all had different stories. While she stood watching, men and women walked in front of her, talking, laughing, and sharing their life stories and adventures. Among them was the usual crowd of women who publicly announced their break ups on their tiny, wireless phones. Le listened to them sometimes, picturing their lives in her head.
There times when Le no longer wanted to watch the couples who held each others’ hand. She wanted to be them. She wanted to break away from her loneliness, her depression. She craved for attention. That was the only reason she wore the make up. She didn’t wear it all the time, but when she did, she felt better, more determined. There were times in which she only went outside just so someone would see her. At the bookstore, she walked by the shelves, glanced at the books, then searched for people who sat across from her. There was an old man who came in on occasion with his drawing board. He drew what he saw, people, the tables and the coffee cups. She liked sitting across from him on a sofa where she read her books. At times she looked up to see if he was watching her. She always wondered if he ever drew her. She liked to believe he did. Maybe he thought she was still a pretty woman.
Le sat on her red rug inside the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Her tears automatically poured out of her brown eyes. Everything was an illusion. She knew she had been fooling herself. She knew they had all fooled her. Pretty, they had said. But, that wasn’t good enough. Pretty hadn’t given her anything. The definition of beautiful and pretty were not the same. Le leaned back on the closed door, still crying.