She screwed her eyes tight, shutting out the light, trying to shut out
the realization…
SNAP.
“There. Take a look.”
She opened her eyes.
Blue eyes she didn’t recognize stared dully back into her own. It was
a cleverly painted face, individuality concealed under a thick
shellack of conservative pale foundation, Feminine and Sexy all
covered up with non-offensive and subtle tones. Nondescript earrings
and a slick, severe bun, meant to be noticed and then promptly
forgotten… Gingerly, she fished the broken half of her nose ring from
her face. The empty hole glared at her.
Her eyes dropped to her suit: pressed, starched, crisp, corporate
and fresh from its plastic garment bag. She didn’t know the child in
this costume, this bland business face…
His arm around her shoulders jolted her out of her reverie. “You look
so grown-up!” he said with a proud laugh, his smiling face appearing
behind hers in the mirror.
She turned to her father, holding the wire cutters in his hand and the
other half of her nose ring.
Déjà vu hit her in the form of another face, another tool, another
state, and another state of mind…
***
A dusting of freckles lay sprinkled across her tanned nose, and her
face was screwed up in a look of intense concentration, willing the
pliers not to slip…
There.
She stepped back to survey the results. She turned her head from side
to side, examining her nose ring that she had just pinched closed, her
uncontrollable curls fanning out in all directions. It was July in
South Carolina, and the heat hung on the air like a shroud… any
attempt to control her hair was simply an exercise in futility.
She sighed and smoothed her vintage apron over her cloth skirt.
Kind of a wild outfit, but what the hell. Fashion is negligible, I’m living amongst a damn circus, she thought wryly.
The thought made her breath catch in her throat for a moment.
I can’t believe I’m here, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m so lucky. I’m so
damn lucky…
***
“—Lucky.”
“Huh?”
“Spacing out already, nice. Try not to do that in your interview,” he kidded.
“Sorry,” she said, forcing a grin, “I was a million miles away for a
minute there.”
“I said, ‘You sure are lucky.’ I can’t believe you got an interview
in Chicago in a field you’re not experienced in,” he said, shaking his head. He clapped her on the shoulder. “Welcome to the working world.”
With a teasing grin and another shake of his head, he headed for the
garage, wire cutters and the twisted metal remnants of a gypsy
identity she knew and loved in hand.
“I just wish I knew what I was working toward,” she said to the empty
house and the warring factions of her mind.
Starving Artistry 
You are working toward your future. Whatever that may be. This is just one chapter in the book.