Beautiful People

"Everyone’s beautiful in their own way. Looks don’t matter. It's what’s in your heart"... I’ve heard it time and time again. Oh how cliché. The idea is that we shouldn’t worry about what’s on the outside because the inside is what matters. Oh how I wish to truly believe that, but the world tells me something different. The images of beautiful people all over the covers of magazines, their gorgeous children, their flawless homes, and all of their money and glory. I can not help but to think it is all a lie when I am told, "You are beautiful no matter what", and then I smile and nod as I look into my mother’s eyes while simultaneously swallowing deeply, as I try to hold back tears.

Why? Because I know that inside her arms I am safe. She loves me and somehow sees my beauty, a bright future, and all of the things you would expect from a loving mother. But dear mother doesn’t understand how I am no longer safe when I leave her arms. I am headed out into a world where no one loves me unconditionally, I am judged by every aspect of my being, no longer the beauty I was told I am, and within minutes of walking out the door questioning my own existence and purpose in life.

Every morning I awaken to the same call, "Charlotte! Get up! You’re going to be late!".

Reluctantly, I get up, take a shower and get myself ready in preparation to face the harsh day. A day full of people who are not so pretty on the inside, but beautiful on the outside and seemingly only exist to make my life absolutely miserable. The beautiful people that live a life seemingly as beautiful as they are.

Then there she is. As I walk into the corridors I see her ugly beauty. 5’7" supermodel type, 120lbs with long arms and legs, a tiny waist, yet curvy hips, flawless skin that glows like the sun, and long flowing dark hair that is perfection under all circumstances. As she walks towards me I cringe, because I know the ugly that lies under all of that beauty.

“Charlotte,” she says my name as she examines me from head to toe in disgust. I imagine she is just thinking of all sorts of criticism of my not so perfect figure and greasy hair.

“Ya”, I respond.

“What’s your problem?” I could smell her expensive perfume as she gets closer. “Why are you just standing there?”

“I’m not. I’m going to first period” I said while gasping for air.

“You’re so weird” she says as she laughs and walks away.

Laughing with the satisfaction that it gave her to know that all it took was 3 words to make me feel as small as a mustard grain, while she continues to shine in all of her glory. Her name was Porscha, and that was it. That was all it took for Porscha to send me into a borderline panic attack. A simple reminder to me that I did not want to be there and that the real world hates me. However, life goes on right?

So like usual I swallowed a tear, took a deep breath, and awkwardly made my way down the hall to first period. It was a 3 minute walk that seemed so far away. Each step I took felt like an eternity and with each one my heart beat faster and faster, but I made it.

“Good morning Ms. Witherspoon”, says Mr. Johns as I enter the classroom.

“Good morning”, I whisper in attempt not to draw attention to myself.

“Have a seat. I can’t wait to see what you come up with for today’s writing assignment”, he says with a smile.

I drop down in my seat and check the clock on the wall in hopes that by some miracle the bell is about to ring and I will be on my way home. To my regret, that wasn’t the case. Instead I was forced to listen to the voices whispering behind me and the smell of perfume I can never afford to purchase.

“Ok class, today’s assignment is another writing prompt. I want you all to use your imaginations”, says Mr Johns as he pulls up a photo of a smiling little girl holding a bumble bee on her index finger.

Then he walked over to me and whispered “I know you can do this”, winked his eye, and made his way back to his desk.

Off into writing land I went, and before I knew it, the bell rang. Yes! Counting down 7 more periods to go and only 3 more that I have to share with Porscha.

As I am packing up my things I hear a voice, "Ms. Witherspoon, I want you to stay behind for a few minutes".

I cringed at the statement, put my things down, and sat back in my chair. My heart began pacing again at the thought that I could potentially walk into the next period late and have all eyes on me.

" How are you doing?" Mr Johns asked.

"I'm fine", I responded while looking away at the window to my right.

He walks from behind his desk and stands about a foot away from me seemingly crouching down to get on my eye level. Then he pauses and smiles. We both breathe a moment of silence. Then he says,

"I graded your last essay on the state of modern times".

Then I listen intently and curious about what he is going to tell me next.

"Your work was brilliant!" he says. "The way you used factual data about our current government, but managed to be compelling and convincing in your standpoint. You kept me intrigued and wanting the your writing to go on even after it was completed."

My eyes began to open wide and that cringing feeling became one of mixed emotions.

"Ms. Witherspoon, you have a GIFT", he says. "Did you know this?"

I answered politely, "I'm not sure, but thank you? I guess.."

He dropped his head and his face gradually started to frown at my response. Then he looked at me again and without blinking he said, "This is serious Charlotte. Talent like this should not go to waste. I gave the class a writing assignment today because I wanted to read more from you".

Overwhelmed I took a step away from him and said, "I meant thank you. I really mean thank you. This is all very flattering but-"

And before I could finish my sentence he cut me off to say, "No BUT! Ms. Witherspoon you have to know you have a gift and use it. There are so many people in this world who wish to have talent like yours".

Afraid he would snap on me again I say, "Ok ok. I understand".

He stops and sighs deeply. Then he steps toward me seemingly crouching to my eye level again and says, "I realize I may have frightened you just now. I'm sorry. I am just very excited about your future."

I nod my head in agreement. Then he walks back behind his desk and pulls out the drawer.

"I want you to have this", he says.

He hands me a small black notebook.

"Take it as a gift from me. I want you to write about whatever you can. Whatever is on your mind or whatever your heart desires. Practice your craft," he says.

"Thank you Mr. Johns. I--"

He cuts me off again to say, "You do not have to share any of your writings with me. This is for you. Just promise me you will use it."

"Ok I promise," I said with a smile. Then I put the little black notebook in my bag and scurried out to my next class.

Later on that evening, as I laid in my cozy bean bag chair, I contemplated how my day went. Thinking about the beautiful people like Porscha and how unfair it is that she is perfect on the outside and I am not. Why did her beauty allow her so much power and prominence? Why wasn't I the chosen one? Tired of being the girl that gets told "Looks don't matter". That is what you tell the ugly girls or the ones that are invisible.

Oh but let's not forget that now I had a gift. "What exactly is the gift Mr. Johns?!" I shouted as I jumped up out of my bean bag chair and stormed to the bathroom. Now standing in front of the mirror, I sarcastically shout some more "I have a gift to write an essay! Wooptie doo!! You tell me what am I supposed to do with that Mr Johns! How does that help my life?!".

Then I slammed my fists down on the counter top, and lowered my head. I could not stand to look at my reflection any longer. My wrists began to shake and the waterworks began. Tears falling endlessly, vision getting blurry, and all I wanted at the moment was to be someone else. I knew that to the Porschas of the world, being me was just not enough. I was just a mustard grain or a spec of sand and might as well had been invisible.

Then I started to think that just maybe I did this to myself. I generally did not want to be seen most of the time. I hid in the shadows and wore dark clothing. I had no desire to style my hair. Maybe I was a part of the reason for my own distress!

With that thought in mind, I immediately ran out of the bathroom back into my bedroom and started rummaging through my closet and drawers. I remembered this little purple dress my aunt gave me that I never wore and a matching purse. As I found the dress in my closet a sigh of relief came over me. I had made up my mind that the next day was going to be a new beginning for me. I was going to be a new person, one of the beautiful people like Porscha Davis.

I tried on the purple dress and it fit perfectly! A matching pair of sandals would later be found in my older sister's closet. I began to feel hopeful that I had a chance at a new start, new look, a new me. Then suddenly it dawned on me that none of this would help my face. So I tip toed back into my sister's room and borrowed her makeup pallet. The rest of my night I would spend hours in front of the mirror watching endless make up tutorials until finally, I got it! I looked just like them, the beautiful people, the pretty girls, the Porscha Davis' of the world, and I was ready to show it off.

The next morning I hear the usual, "Charlotte! Get up! You're going to be late!" However, this time I was ready. I was up, dressed, and ready to show the world the new me. For once I did not feel so ugly. I thought maybe I had a chance at acceptance.

I came down the stairs and watched my mother's jaw drop followed by a 3 second loss for words, which was then followed by, "Char you look amazing!".

Slightly embarrassed I looked at her, said "Thank you ma" and hurried out the front door before she could ask any questions.

On my way to school I felt the awkward stares by peers passing by, but I couldn't afford to focus on that. In a matter of minutes, I would be standing in those corridors and I was focused on my new attitude to go with the new dress and makeup.

"Charlotte is that you?!" yells a voice from down the hall.

As she comes closer, I begin smelling her perfume all over again. Not sure if I was quite ready to face her, I take a deep breath and answer,"Yes it's me Porscha".

"What are you wearing? You look ridiculous! And who did your makeup? Girl, you should just go home now. You look atrocious!" she says as she lets out a large chuckle and walks away.

Suddenly her loud chuckle is followed by several other loud voices of laughter. Their eyes all staring at me and finding my existence humorous. I could not believe this was happening. How could this be? How could I feel even smaller than a mustard grain? The new me had lived and died in the same day, within a few hours. That was all it took.

As they walked away cheering I continued making my way to first period. Once again, the hallway seemed so long and my heart pounding so hard and fast. I swallowed each tear and felt them sinking in my stomach, making it turn and feeling nauseous. Walking in I knew I was going to be the center of attention, but this was something I no longer wanted.

I sat down in my chair and closed my eyes for a second, pretending I did not hear the whispers behind me or the laughter that followed. Looking at the clock again thinking "I need a miracle", but every second that passed felt like an eternity until the end.

When class was finally over I could not move. I could not think. I had not even remembered what the lesson was about. I was so defeated and I was beyond frustration. Everyone left the room and I just put my head down and began sobbing uncontrollably.

"Ms. Witherspoon! Ms. Witherspoon! What's going on?! I'm going to call the nurse right now!" panicked Mr. Johns.

"NO!", I yelled. "Do not call the nurse! I don't need a stupid nurse!"

He paused while I continued hysterically, "The problem is me! I exist! I'm not like them and I will never be good enough! I hate it all!"

"Ms. Witherspoon...Charlotte!" he says, "You have--"

"I have a what?!" I shouted, "I have a gift! A dumb writing gift!"

Suddenly I found myself saying all of the things I said to myself in the bathroom mirror. I was filled with all kinds of emotions and angry at Mr. Johns, but I did not know exactly why.

He stopped me and said, "Pour your passion into your writing Charlotte! Make lemonade out of lemons."

Then frustrated and angry at the world I stormed out and went home. I didn't go to my next class. I went home. I had it with school. I had it with people. I had it with Porscha and all of her perfection. It was a rough day, so I decided to sleep some of that anxiety off.

When I woke up that night I decided to take Mr. John's advice. I opened the little black notebook and just started to write. I began researching on the internet for psychology and sociology as it pertains to beautiful people, how society views them and why. I started writing about us not so perfect and even ugly people and how we see the world; how the world treats us like we are less than.

Suddenly my whole night was filled with these words on paper in this notebook. I just kept writing and writing and writing until the next sunrise. I did not want to stop. The feeling was overwhelming yet satisfying.

Maybe Mr. Johns was right. This was my purpose. Could this be what made me beautiful? Maybe writing was all I needed to feel my existence. Maybe I did not need to be a new person.

The next morning I went to school as usual. This time as myself. No make up and no fancy dresses. Just myself. I walked through the corridors and before Porscha could call my name I yelled down the hall.

"Mr. Johns! Mr. Johns!" speeding down the hall and almost dropping my bookbag I yelled with excitement, "I did what you said! I wrote in the notebook! I made lemonade out of lemons! It's my gift."

He smiled at me and said, "I'm glad you realized it. Now do not let it go to waste".

The rest of the day, I watched the clock like usual. However, this time it was for a different reason. I could not wait to go home and write in my notebook. As each period went by I became more excited and there was not an amount of whispering or laughter that could bring me down.

Porscha had a look of wonder in her eyes when she saw me run by after last period. I could imagine what she was thinking. Perhaps she was wondering why I was in high spirits. Maybe noticing that she did not have a chance to make me feel small that day. Whatever it was, I was not concerned.

When I got home later that evening, I ran upstairs to immediately start writing in my notebook. That satisfying feeling came over me again and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then suddenly my mother knocks on my bedroom door and throws an envelope to me. She says, "You got mail from some kind of honor society. I hope it's good news!".

Not expecting anything, I opened the envelope and began to read. I could not believe it! It was like my eyes were playing tricks on me. "Could this be real?" I thought to myself. It was a check for $20,000 made out to me! Not 5, 10, or 15 but $20,000!

Included was a letter that said Mr. Johns submitted my "State of Modern Times" essay to the writers society. They offered me $20k and a contract to publish my article in their Modern Literature Publication. This was a dream come true that I didn't even know I had.

At that moment I had become so grateful that I was me. That Mr. Johns believed in me. That I was not just a beautiful person. I had value and a gift that goes deeper than long legs, curvy hips, beautiful skin and beautiful hair. This was the beginning of the new me, and I was happy for her existence.