Vanity: A Short Story

Vanity It is my earliest memory. I had just turned three a month or two prior, on March 19th. For my birthday, I was given a pink and white Little Tikes vanity with two drawers and a mirror. Paired with the vanity was a small stool, also pink and white. I was sitting on the stool, looking in the mirror of the vanity, and relishing in my thoughts of growing up. It scared me, that much I knew, but I refused to let my hopes and dreams be crushed by fear.

The vanity was in my room, right next to my dresser. The bedroom I grew up in was tiny, much smaller than my room now. It was large enough to fit a cradle, which was used for a toy bin, a twin bed, a dresser, a vanity, and a bedside table, but anything more than that and the room would have been crammed. The walls were painted a light

You’re going to get hurt!” he said, panicking and anxious.

“Kurtis, she’s fine, what’s gonna happen?” I heard my mom say from the kitchen.

“Stay off of it, Allison.”

He sighed and left the room, and with that I snuck back up on the stool. I was tapping both of my feet on the stool when I slipped, went down face first, hitting my tooth on the cradle. The only sounds I heard were my penetrating shriek, along with a loud crack. Both of my parents rushed into the room, extremely worried looks on their faces.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” my mom says, sympathetically.

Through my tears I attempt a smile, and instantly my father picks me up and takes me to our bathroom. Grabbing a tissue, he begins dabbing my front tooth, sending a sharp pain through my entire body, and then removes the red tissue and throws it away in the garbage can.

“You’re okay, honey,” says my mom, shooting my dad an apologetic look.

“It’s okay, kid, but from now on you are not climbing on your stool anymore,” my father agrees.

“Okay, dad,” I nod.

Aside from a black, slightly chipped tooth and a scrape on my arm, I did not have any injuries, thankfully. And from that day forward, I did not stand on my stool