Red Dress

I was six, when I first had my share of the oozing delight of having a very handsome man plant a kiss on my cheek. It was from Monsour del Rosario.
On the eve of my father’s birthday, I was in my room looking at the two new dresses I had laid down on my bed. It took me a week to narrow down what I had wanted to wear to my father’s birthday party. I wasn’t sure if Monsour was coming, but I prepared just the same, in case he would. One of the dresses was a velvet black dress with a white laced rounded collar. The other was a velvet red, with puffed sleeves, and a ribbon of a darker shade tied around the stomach. I picked out the red dress and wore it. I walked to the mirror and looked at myself.
My hair was black and poofy. Short. About ear length. I had bangs, cut strait across my forehead, just above the eyebrows. I noticed a change in the way my eyes looked. The redness of the dress brought out the darkness of my pupils. I looked very good, I judged. I stood there for minutes watching myself.
I glanced at my legs. White, young skin. No trace of scars. Tender calves that have not yet developed muscle.
When it was getting late I decided to take off the dress and get some sleep. But I couldn’t. I kept imagining how I would react if Monsour entered the room. I practiced appearing unexcited. I practiced how I would control my laughter. It might turn him off. I imagined how he would look, what he would be wearing, the color of his face. The jagged edges of his short hair. I felt like it was my birthday I was anticipating.
I woke up early on the day of the party. Stayed in the house and watched the maids and my mother set-up the decorations. The sun was setting, when a large sculpture arrived carried by two men. It was set in the middle of our swimming pool. A floating fountain. I marveled at it for an hour. It had lights sprouting with the water. Green lights. Yellow lights. Blue lights. Red lights. Petals were showered round the pool as well.
Guests started to arrive. My cousins and sister played cards on the floor. I sat among them finally, after much agitation. My neck frustrated by my constant turning to see the guests arriving. My lips, getting tired from having to kiss all the titos and titas.
It was getting late, and I had started to give up on him arriving. I felt I wasn’t as stunning as I had originally been when I came down the staircase. Suddenly, the faces of my playmates changed. Their eyes started to look from one another to an image behind me. Their lips turning up as if awaiting the climax of a practical joke. I turned around—smack! In an instant I inhaled an overwhelming scent of male perfume, and felt a gentle kiss land on my cheek. Soft. I heard giggling around me. I looked into the eyes of the kisser, and it was Monsour. The tan color of his face. The strong bone structure. His little round eyes and blacker than black eyelashes. This inventory happened in two seconds. I turned around quickly to face my playmates. I felt heat rush up my cheeks. They were laughing at me. While they did, his hands found my shoulder. Gently rubbing it.
I had become as red as my dress.