Characterization

Brunette is what I would call her, although you might disagree and point out that it is walnut brown with streaks of neutral dark blonde in it. Her smile lights up the whole room, as the line stretches from one dimple to another. Her gray eyes twinkle as if a star had fallen and taken abode in her face. Her plump face whispers “I am a natural woman,” as the bridge of her nose tips forward, loudly proclaiming her Irish background.

She stoops, her curly hair flaring around her, almost like a hair advert, as she picks a toy and give it to the little toddler swaying on the floor.

“Hey kiddo,” she waves the Sheriff Woody. The little boy scrambles to have a grab at the Toy Story character. And a kiddy fight-play ensues. Her eyes gleam, as if the tug of war she is currently participating in is national secret and of utmost importance. I could see that she has blocked all of us out, as she withdraws into that childhood world, I seldom see her go. Sometimes, it is easy to forget that she is only sixteen and practically a girl.

She had to grow up when her parents died two years ago. It didn’t help much that the accident was splattered on the front page of every known newspaper and magazine in the country. Also, she, with the rest of the family, was not awarded private time to mourn her loss, as her every moment, tear, emotion, and facial deposition was analyzed to the very basic by the media and paparazzi. Yes, Lauren learnt that she needed to project a mature façade to survive the angry world of fame and fortune when her buffers died.

From then on, I watch her play adult, so well that she puts the rest of us to shame. She completely sold that image to million looking at, and up to her. For months after her parents’ death, the media buzzed on how she held herself up regally and seems ready to take her parents place. Each time the public saw her, she became a few years older than she actually is. And considering the amount of public appearance she has had in the past two years--from being actively involved in her father’s media company, to one charity event, to attending award ceremonies and shows--she is now considered an adult. And this is easy to accept because Lauren actually looks 20ish; and a pair of heels is never far from her legs while flawless makeup is always on her face.

Lauren is now a face, and tries damn hard to suppress the person. However, little things bring the person to surface, like this little kid at the Patel Medical Center for Leukemia and Cancer Research's Christmas party. She connects with him immediately.

I look around and wonder for how long Lauren would stay in that psych. However, as I bend to check my watch…

“Miss Lauren, Miss Lauren” rings out loud. The paparazzi has arrived, and is taking no for an answer.

“Miss Lauren a minute please”

I look up straight to Lauren. I see the flicker in her eyes as she switches personality. She smiles, and I return a sympathetic one. She slowly rises up, her metallic bracelet clanging with a resigned sound. Lauren O'Neill is her name and I, her guardian. Together we both strut to meet the press.