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The Glow

Stephanie Powell

There is no specific moment that I can remember when Annabelle started to glow.  It must have been around the age of fifteen that the soft luminescence began traveling across her skin.  The light remained dormant in her veins until an appealing stimulus triggered its awakening.  Simple excitement could make Annabelle’s flesh turn to fluorescent gold.

When I first notice her glowing, I thought it was a trick of the lighting or perhaps a new, expensive lotion she had stolen from her mother.  I figured the new look was Annabelle ahead of the trends as always.  I realized shortly thereafter that her skin sometimes appeared as dull and pale as my own, and only when Robert Radcliffe walked by did her skin awaken.

“What is with your skin lately?” I had asked.  She crossed her arms over her stomach and took a defensive pose.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re glowing.” 

She looked down at her feet, but I caught the blush tint her cheeks. “I can’t stop it.”

Annabelle has always been a confident, extroverted girl.  Her sudden wariness was more characteristic of me, and I knew something peculiar was happening that even she did not understand.

A week later, Robert Radcliffe gave Annabelle a bouquet of yellow daisies.  The glow trickled across her body like sunbeams creeping out over the horizon as the day begins.  She thanked him under the jealous glares of the other girls.  Robert would become her first love.  He adored her light and sunny disposition, and Annabelle adored him.  They were perfect together until Robert caught a severe case of jealousy and ruined the romance.

As the years passed, Annabelle grew more comfortable in her shimmering skin, whereas I was always awkward and self-conscious in my own.  She was a fascinating sight in the height of stimulation.  I learned to decipher her episodes better than she.  While she was purely and genuinely happy, there was just the soft glow which could last days at a time with Annabelle’s optimistic view of life.  When she found a boy particularly handsome, a glimmer swept her body in his presence, and this glimmer made her all the more gorgeous (as if her flawless features and luscious locks weren’t enough).  In love, Annabelle would sparkle and shine as if millions of stars were reflecting on her flesh.  When it rained, her appearance was as lackluster as the dreary weather, but a rainbow could cause a gleam that challenged fireflies.

Annabelle has grown at ease with the condition.  I find it odd that I am the only person who seems to think this glow is anything but ordinary.  Other people take in her shine with nothing more than a prolonged first glance and a smile.  Only Annabelle could turn such an abnormality into a blessing.

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