"It's not like, a romantic attraction," Trish said honestly, hoping not to be misunderstood. "It's more of a strong admiration. I'm in awe of you. I want to look just like you, and spend time together like this. The two of us, unknown outsiders. Free to express ourselves and explore society and its reactions to us."
"Do you think this is the way I want to express myself?" Samantha put down her water and gestured to her black-shrouded body. "This isn't me, Trish. I don't know if you would feel right in this either, but I know it's not me. Sure, I'll spend some time in this dress, 'exploring' things as you say, but at the end of the day I'm going back to my normal self."
With that, Samantha hoisted herself up, straightened her dress and propped her umbrella regally against her shoulder. "Ready to go?"
Trish could tell she had made Sam uncomfortable, and not because of the dress she was in. Trish had a hard time explaining it, even to herself, but she suddenly had a strong urge to dress as a fancy Goth. It wasn't necessarily because of the clothing style, but because of what it created in and around the wearer. It represented a deep kind of expression that is rarely seen in public, and Trish already knew the remote was all about creating new outlooks and highly personalizing one's looks. She felt jealous of the awed stares Sam received. She wanted to elicit them herself. Even as a cow-girl she didn't have those kind of onlookers, mostly thanks to the remote normalizing people's acceptance. And without that acceptance, a cow-girl would provoke too strong a reaction.
Several minutes later, they reached the drug store on the other side of the park. Trish quickly located batteries, but they had to wait in line at the register. All the while, patrons in the store stole glances at Samantha.
Sam felt a tugging in the back of her dress. She turned and looked down at a small boy. "Hi," he said.
"Hello," Sam replied.
"Why do you have an umbrella if it's not raining?"
Sam couldn't help but giggle at the innocent question, and the boy's naive bravery in approaching her to ask it. She knelt as carefully as she could in her dress.
"It's not for rain," she said sweetly, tugging a little of the fabric out of the roll so the boy could see its laced pattern. "It keeps the sun from making me too hot."
"Why are there squiggles all over your face?"
"It's makeup," she thought quickly for a plausible answer. "It represents the swirling inner turmoil of my soul."
"What's a turmull?"
Sam knew this questioning could go on forever, and Trish was finally at the head of the line. "Why don't you go back to your mommy or your daddy? I bet they're looking for you." She stood up straight and started walking toward the door as Trish moved to join her. "Nice talking with you," she called back.
Just before they left the store, Sam heard the boy's mom talking to him in a raspy whisper. "What did I say about wandering off? And talking to strangers?!" Her black lips curled in amusement as she wondered what her parents would say if they ever saw her like this.
"Mission accomplished," Trish said, hoisting a small plastic bag. "Let's find some place private and get on with it."