Outside of ridiculous movies, sitcoms, and internet prank shows, I’ve only ever seen people make three kinds of first impressions. We have the good first impression: Your standard “how very nice to meet you” fare with smiles, gestures, and quaint little jokes to smooth out the whole ordeal of coming face to face with ANOTHER person. Ugh. There are the bad impressions: people who honestly shoot their shot at option one but lose something in translation along the way. You know these by the awkward and uncomfortable silences or immediate disdain for one another due to the general incompatibility of personalities. The incompatibility of course being that you are amazing and wonderful while the person you’re meeting is a grade-A shithead… but in a totally unbiased-sounding way.

 

Finally, there’s what I like to call the “strong” first impression. Like taking a sip of lemonade lovingly crafted by someone who doesn’t understand the concept of adding sugar or water to the mix. A visceral gut punch to the senses, possible only when face to face with a hurricane of a personality capable of wiping out anything in its path. This is not good, this is not evil, it’s simply a natural force, a primal power condensed into the oh-so-small packaging of a single human body.

 

By the detailed description, I’m sure you can guess what kind of impression Erika’s friend begins making as she bursts through our front door without even the courtesy of a knock.

 

The solid wooden door we honestly believe keeps us in some way safe wildly swings before crashing into the drywall behind it, producing a loud BANG that makes me weep for our security deposit. Storming in from beyond the threshold is a flurry of gold, orange, and pink fabric wrapped around a woman doing her very finest catwalk strut. Given her energy, I feel I should be rushing to get our camera and snapping a few pictures for Vogue or something. The conversation Erika and I have been engrossed in dies immediately, as it seems only right that the sole noise in our apartment now should be the snapping of heels on hardwood heralding the approach of the blonde with streaks of fiery red.

 

Stopping sharply in front of the two of us, the woman in a dress that can only be described as deafening loud crosses her arms. “You called?” She asks, obviously addressing Erika, the only person I know with the power to summon such a mystical being.

 

The bright smile that washes over Erika dispels any fear I have that we’ve been targeted by the world's most conspicuous home invader. “Aphrodite, thanks for coming!” My best friend bounces up and wraps our guest in a hug while Aphrodite makes no effort to return the gesture, electing instead to keep staring down at me. At least, I think she’s staring at me. To be fair, her gigantic sunglasses make it incredibly difficult to read her expression. Releasing Aphrodite, Erika steps back and gestures at me. “Oh yeah, this is Felix! He’s your victim today– ahem, I mean… canvas.”

 

I stand up to meet the intimidatingly silent woman face to face but before I can say a single word, my chin is seized between two fingers as Aphrodite begins turning my head in every which direction. “Alright, first things first: We gotta give you a bit of a closer shave. You’ve got fabulous cheekbones and gorgeous eyes... We’ll make sure to highlight those. What kind of style were you thinking of going for today?” Letting go of my head, and giving me exactly zero seconds to recover from having what little brains I have scrambled in their own shell, Aphrodite looks at me expectantly.

 

“Umm, style? Like Gangam?” Nobody reading this better judge me. After being handled like a goddamn magic eight ball, I was lucky not to spit out “Ask again later.”

 

Turning to Erika, Aphrodite gestures toward me. “Is he being serious?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes. I’d say it’s best to start him off with a natural look, something understated but still noticeable.” 

 

The woman who looks like she lacks any frame of reference for what the word “understated'' could possibly mean nods and looks back at me. “Got it. Keep it simple and a bit boring.”

 

“That’s perfect for him!” Erika chimes in, unwelcome as a cold front in the summer.

 

“I don’t want to hear that from your Tim Burton movie star looking ass!” I yell, shooting Erika a glare that’s instantly returned.

 

Aphrodite chuckles for a second and starts unpacking the bag I hadn’t noticed, which camouflages perfectly with her poofy attire. “Alright, less milquetoast and more friend roast. Maybe we can go a bit more dramatic with your look after all.”

 

“Don’t encourage him!” Erika grumbles, tumbling back onto the couch but stretching out to take up all the room. “Oh! While you’re putting on the lipstick, can you use some eyelash glue and seal his big mouth shut?” 

 

Turning to Aphrodite, who’s unloaded an entire department store’s worth of makeup on our coffee table, I shrug. “I’m cool with anything as long as I don’t look like a Hot Topic threw up all over me.” From her position on the couch, Erika swings one of her legs up and kicks my ass… literally. “You got something to say, Morticia?”

 

“Better to be Morticia than a generic npc!”

 

Our guest start cackling as she finally takes off her sunglasses revealing a pair of… pink? How the fuck does anyone have pink eyes!? “They’re contacts, kid,” Aphrodite answers, somehow reading my mind. “Now if the old married couple is done bickering, can we get this show on the road? I got things to see, people to do, and food to eat. Now, go clean up that face!”

 

… Don’t think I didn’t notice someone younger than me calling me a kid. The nerve!

 

*Way too long later*
*What the hell is that supposed to mean?*

*Aphrodite!? How did you get into the transition text!?*
*I’m powerful like that, bitch. Now stop complaining and let's move on!*

 

I feel like something profoundly wrong just happened, but decide to move on for my own sanity’s sake.

 

After trying my best to sit still while various brushes, sponges, and other such tools have tickled my entire face a few times over, my compulsive need to fidget and move becomes absolutely unbearable. “Move your head again, and I’m gonna have Erika strap it down!” Little did Aphrodite know we actually have the equipment to do that in the closet somewhere. “Alright, it isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty damn close,” she announces, stepping back and inspecting her work.

 

As I’m about to stand up, Erika wheels around, face full of mischief and a need to sow chaos. As soon as she sees me, her feet stop and her jaw drops. “Holy fucking shit, Aphrodite! You’re a genius!”

 

“Like you didn’t know this before… but feel free to keep praising me. You know I live for that shit.”

 

Beset on both sides by beaming faces, my curiosity burns brighter by the second until it reaches an incandescent peak. “It’s good? Like, really good? What do I look like?” I stand up slowly, almost afraid that the layers I can feel on my face will slip off if I act too rashly.

 

“Hold on!” Erika yells as she scrambles to the other side of the room. “And close your eyes!”

 

I do what I’m told and shut my eyes lightly, feeling the unfamiliar new weight of my eyelashes as they move about. While the world is dark, I can hear the table being shoved off to the side and the telltale sound of wheels moving our standing mirror into place in front of me. The commotion earlier had distracted me, and the nerves I felt to not upset Aphrodite kept my excitement metered while she worked on my face… but now… now, I’m remembering exactly what’s happening. The video, the expression, the elation, my own jealousy. Since I first saw that video, I couldn’t get the thought of feeling that way out of my head. Now, seconds away from my own reveal, I’m absolutely fucking terrified.

 

What the fuck am I doing!?

 

Panic starts settig in and I can feel a few beads of sweat emerging to threaten the meticulous work of Aphrodite. I can hear my own heart beating and I think I might actually be sick. This is a mistake. A HUGE mistake. Possibly the biggest mistake of my life. I’m not the person in that video. I’m not and I could never be that person. All I’m going to feel is disappointed and sick of myself. This whole fucking day, all of it is just–

 

A soft hand wraps around my own and squeezes gently. “Alright, Lix, go ahead and open them." 

 

Gripping Erika’s hand tightly, I open my eyes.

 

In front of me is our standing mirror, just as I thought, but what’s showing up in the reflective surface doesn’t make sense. There’s Erika, bouncing up and down with a look of unfettered elation on her face, all right, that’s not the problem. On the other side is Aphrodite, cursing under her breath because my friend had knocked over some of her makeup while shoving our table aside. Also makes sense, given the scene.

 

So who the hell is the woman in the middle staring back at me in dumbstruck awe? I raise my right hand and watch the action copied by the anomaly, thereby fulfilling the quintessential mirror reveal cliche and proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that the mirror… is broken.

 

Where I'm supposed to be is a woman dressed in my clothes. Obviously, she has some features that are similar to mine, but the way they're presented, I can't help but find them... gorgeous? She's undeniably feminine and beautiful and for a moment I'm beyond elated. This was everything I'd ever hoped for. I don't know why, but seeing this feels so freeing. I'm beautiful. More than that, I look... happy. Genuinely happy in a way I didn't realize was possible. Is this how people are supposed to feel seeing themselves!? I always just assumed that feeling nothing about your appearance was the best you could hope for, with options scaling all the way down to downright disgusted... but this is positive!? Why is this so different? 

 

“That’s…” my voice, deep and grating, shatters the illusion just as it begins to take hold. “Oh.”

 

“You look amazing, Felix!” Erika chimes, still beaming with giddy delight. Her excitement is almost infectious. Almost. But that name. MY name. That can’t be the name of the person looking back at me. And I’m Felix. This person… she doesn’t belong.

 

Aphrodite pauses her packing and stands up. “You all right there? You kind of look–”

 

“Wrong. This is wrong. This was a mistake.” The words I couldn’t quite reach a moment ago fizzle out, only to be replaced by a hailstorm of jagged edges, half-heartedly tumbling free. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is just–I can’t do this.”

 

"Felix, what's wrong?" Erika asks, all enjoyment wiped from her expression, leaving behind a specter of worry in its wake. I did that. I upset her again.

And I made the two of them help me with this stupid idea. All so that what? What was the goal here? To feel like the person in the video?

 

To feel beautiful?

 

Why do I even want that!? I DON'T want that. I don't know what I want. But I don't want to be here right now.

 

My legs act faster than my brain as I take off in the direction of my room. I'm pretty sure my mouth hasn't stopped muttering nonsensical apologies all the way, but it doesn't matter anymore. I slam my door shut before Erika can stop me and brace my back against it before slowly sliding down to the floor.

 

"... Felix? Please say something." Erika's voice is distraught from outside, and I want to answer her. But how can I? I'm a grown-ass person that just threw a tantrum worthy of a mandatory preschool naptime punishment. I'm mortified. The only sound I'm capable of making are pitiful little cries as I hug my knees to my chest, hoping for a do-over of this entire week.

 

After Erika gives up on getting through to me, I hear her talk to Aphrodite for a bit. I can't hear their conversation, but it's not hard to guess what's being discussed. When you make an ass of yourself, you kind of have to be ready to be the topic of conversation for a while and... yeah, I went and had a full-on breakdown my first time meeting Aphrodite. If there's any silver lining to be gleaned, at least Erika won't ask me to meet any more of her friends for a long while now... if ever.

 

*One self-indulgent cry later*

 

I've long settled down at this point and have been sitting stock still for the better part of an hour just staring at my empty bed across the room. Really, there are only about three feet of clear floor space between me and my mattress, but that might as well be Killamanjaro right about now with how impossible and daunting the trek across such a vast terrain seems at the moment.

 

The entire house has gone quiet and I can only assume that Erika has long since gone to sleep. At least, that's what I think until a string of incredibly out-of-tune notes slaps against my eardrums from the other side of my door.

 

"Fuck!" I can hear Erika whisper as she continues to pluck strings, seemingly at random on the Ukulele she's picked up from her closet.

 

I remember giving her that Ukulele.

 

I bought it when I was in sixth grade because I really wanted to learn how to play the guitar but couldn't afford the full-sized model and settled for a four-stringed punchline of overly peppy and enthusiastic notes. In high school, after Erika broke up with her first boyfriend, she locked herself in her room and blasted the Jagged Little Pill album while belting out her favorites at full ear-shattering volume. It took about five minutes before her parents called me over to help. Now, my first thought, being the incredible fuckwad that I was and still am, was to play along with Alanis' songs and make Erika's parents' night twice as loud and unbearable. I figured that'd cheer up my friend in no time. When I got to her door though, I could hear how upset she was, and how badly she'd been hurt. So instead I waited for her to finish her one-woman concert. After she went through the entire album two and a half times, repeating You Otta Know twice during each go around, she turned everything off. Not knowing how exactly to comfort someone going through such a bad time, I defaulted to the one song I'd bothered learning on my instrument of limited choice: Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

"Hey let's order some piiiiizza and breadsticks. Then we can watch stupid movies until the sun rises and skiiiiiiip school! Who needs to learn!?" Given the off the cuff nature of my song, I was quite happy with how well it almost fit the tune. Low and behold it also worked like a charm because I heard Erika laugh through her door before calling me an idiot and agreeing to my plan. Her parents were less enthusiastic about our truancy but let it slide that one time. It was a bittersweet memory that Erika immortalized when she asked to keep the instrument I had planned to give to a thrift shop when we were clearing out space in the apartment. Now, I guess it was her turn to give the little wooden board a shot.

After many more uttered obscenities directed at an instrument I feel suffered enough just by being made, Erika called out loudly, "Y'know what? Just pretend you can hear the damn song!" I couldn't help but laugh at her frustrated attempt to console me while hearing her clear her throat. "Hey let's order some taaaacos, and some beer. Then we can watch trashy tv and call out sick from wooooooooork!"

 

For the first time today, I could feel a huge, stupid smile on my face. "Fine, but you have to stop singing immediately."

 

"Shut up asshole!" She yells while pounding my door. "My voice is fabuloooooooooooussssss," she regrettably sings in a voice that, though comforting and kind, is anything but fabulous.

 

"The door stays locked!"

 

"Fine! No more singing! Killjoy."

 

The two of us laugh together, separated by a thin wooden boundary.

 

"I'm really sorry, y'know. I mean it, the way I acted was... it was fucking embarrassing."

 

"Lix, you have nothing to apologize for. Everyone has their moments and everyone has their stumbles. It was just a bad day, and if anything I'm sorry for my part in it. Obviously, we're gonna turn down the commission. I don't want you feeling like that again, alright?"

 

"... Thanks, Erika, for everything. But would you mind doing me one more favor?"

 

"Of course!" She answers immediately.

 

"Can you apologize to your friend for me? She spent a lot of time doing something so beautiful and I just shit all over the moment. I want her to know that I appreciate it, nonetheless."

 

"Oh, you can tell her yourself. She wants to have lunch with you sometime and have a real conversation with you. That is, if you're okay with that?"

 

Fighting back my intense flight response, I resolve to face the woman I'd humiliated myself in front of. "Sure... sounds good." It didn't sound good at all, but if I can somehow make up for tonight, I'm willing to put in the effort.

 

Finally feeling up to the challenge of standing, I open my door only to have my friend fly directly into a tight hug that I gratefully return. "Now, let's get hammered!" Erika decrees as I try to figure out what terrible illness I'll be telling my boss I've contracted in the morning.