Free The Position by Izzy Mason

passed out with a lit cigarette in her hand and nearly burned the place to the ground. And it was there the time my father whipped me with his belt until the blood was seeping through my shirt.  
    Good fucking riddance. I’ve been carrying that hair around long enough.
    He blow-dries and styles my hair, pressing his lips together in deep concentration. When he’s finally finished, the stylist spins the chair around to face the mirror, eyebrows raised in suspense. My hair falls in undulating waves just past my shoulders. Instead of hanging heavy over my skull, it’s full of life and body. Long bangs are swept off to one side. I stare at my reflection in disbelief. How is it possible this is me?
    “Do you like…?” he asks gleefully.  
    Unable to speak, I nod, dazed. Liz stands beside the stylist, gazing at me in the mirror. There are tears in her eyes.  
    “Girl,” she whispers, “you’re stunning.”  
    The last thing Liz insists I do before leaving the mall is to buy myself a few sets of sexy underwear and bras. “I swear, just knowing it’s under there makes you feel like Cleopatra,” she says. “It reminds you that you’re a sexy beast. And at the end of the day, you’re the only one you need to convince.”  
    I have absolutely no idea what bra size I am, since all of my bras have been ill-fitted and secondhand. So Liz has a woman who works in the lingerie department measure me. She comes up behind me and wraps a tailor’s tape measure around my back and my boobs. Then she leads me around the store pulling out an armload of bras just my size.  
    Liz wants to come in while I try them on but I make her wait outside. I’m not girly in that way. But Liz is a good sport about it. She takes a seat just outside the changing room where bored husbands and boyfriends usually sit.  
    The first bra I try is black and it fits better than I thought possible. It pushes up my boobs and makes them look full and awesome. I stare at them, remembering Travis. The thought that I might actually be desirable sends a shiver through me. In that moment I realize how much I want to be touched. Touched all over my body. And I want to explore a body; to make a man groan with pleasure. I want to join the land of the living.  
    That evening, Liz goes through her closet and pulls out armload after armload of clothes for me to try on. She knows just what goes together and what doesn’t, and she even writes a few notes down for me.  
    “You’ll get the hang of it,” she says, holding up a lovely blue dress. “In fact, once you get started in fashion, you’ll never, ever go back.”  
    I watch her with such intense gratitude it’s almost painful. No one has ever gone through this much trouble for me. Everything feels different. I feel lighter. My hair is lighter. My body feels lighter. Like I’ve finally shed the tattered old me and now I am fresh and new.  
    Before leaving Liz’s house, I fold everything very carefully, knowing how wrinkled clothes can get in my car, and put them in bags. The dresses and nicer blouses I leave on the hanger to drape over my arm. When she walks me to the door, chattering excitedly and raving about how beautiful I look, I feel the tightness in my throat. I turn to look at her, tears brimming in my eyes. She smiles warmly, and soon tears are filling her eyes as well.  
    “Your world is going to change,” she says, her voice breaking.  
    I drop the bags and throw my arms around her.

Chapter Thirteen

    On Monday morning, I get up super early. My heart is running sprints in my chest and my hands are actually shaking with nerves. I pick out Liz’s business casual blue dress, throw a hair dryer and toiletries into my duffel bag, and head to the YMCA. I don’t even try to sneak in this time. I just pay the woman at the counter for access to the showers and locker rooms. After all, this is the new me.
    After securing my things in a locker, I let myself take a long, hot shower. It’s