Damaged Goods

“I hate to say it, but you’re damaged goods,” he said in a gruff, matter-of-fact tone. “You just aren’t what we’re looking for.” I nodded my head, holding back tears, and thanked him for his time through quivering lips. My evident heartbreak must’ve triggered a small slice of humanity in him, and in an apparent attempt to console me, he said, “We’re just looking for people who have it all together. Scars and stuff just make people grossed out, you know?” I nodded, the first tear halted in its tracks by fleeting shock that he could say such a thing to someone who had been through what I had.

I scurried out of the modelling agency, studying the floor as I went. I had gone to an open call that was being advertised all over my town. I was a lean 5‘11“ with fair skin and strong features, so when my mom encouraged me to go give it a shot, I thought it couldn’t hurt. Now, sitting in my car with my head against the steering wheel, tears dripping onto my thighs, I realised how wrong I was. I really thought that my height and facial features would’ve outweighed the enduring remnants of my surgery, but I was wrong. The long scars on my sides were just too “gross,” I guess. I briefly wondered what he would’ve said if I had gone in to the tryout with my old body, the one before the operation. I remembered my deformed ribs and my twisted spine, my uneven hips and my protruding shoulder. I thought the surgery had made me good enough; I thought all that pain would’ve been worth it, would’ve fixed me. I guess not.

I sat up and decided to try to focus on something else. I turned the keys in my ignition and pulled out of the lot, heading back to my little apartment. I found myself wondering what life would’ve been like if I hadn’t been born with a deformed spine. Would I have made more friends? Would I have been happier? Would I have loved myself?

I jumped in my seat as a car horn went off behind me. I looked in the rear-view mirror to see an elderly man giving me a disgusted look, waving his hand as if to say “Who the hell let you on the road?” I turned my head forward to see a green light staring at me expectantly. I stepped on the gas too hard, jolting the car forward into the intersection, tires screeching as they carried me onto the highway towards home.

As I neared my exit, I heard my stomach growl. I remembered that I hadn’t eaten anything yet since I had wanted to be extra lean for the modelling interview. “Pointless,” I thought to myself. “Never good enough.” I felt my face heat up again with the familiar wave of searing shame that I always felt after a failure.

I pulled off the highway to grab some fast food from my favourite Thai place. I knew I wouldn’t be going out again once I reached home, so I figured it would be better to stop now. As I pulled up, I saw the parking lot was packed. I had to park in the far corner, a good walk away from my takeaway destination. This was well and truly a bad, bad day.

Cold, wet pavement under my high-heeled feet, I took careful footsteps as I trudged towards my beloved haven of spring rolls and green curry. I was almost there — just two shops remained between me and a belly full of comfort food.

Out of nowhere, something cold and wet flew into the side of my face. Thinking it was some kind of living creature that had it out for me and my pitiful self, I jumped and whacked myself in the face trying to get it off. I pulled the thing away from my face and frantically shook it onto the ground, only to see a sopping, dead, crumpled maple leaf hit the sidewalk. I breathed out a long breath, and looked over at the building to my side to see if my embarrassing moment had been seen my anyone inside the little store. I couldn’t see anyone inside — I was safe. I paused; there was a little poster hung up on one of the glass doors. I shuffled closer and peered into the tiny white face looking back at me. It was a sad looking, skinny, all-white kitten who had been photographed in the arms of a middle aged man who clearly disliked animals. I took a few steps over and leaned back to check the sign hanging above the shop: “BITTERN SMALL ANIMAL HOSPITAL.” How had I never realised that there was an animal shelter here? I stepped forward again to read the details of the scared-faced kitty on the poster, curious as to why it looked so ill. “Seven week old kitten for adoption. Heart defect. Life expectancy: 8-12 months. Free to loving home.” I felt my face heat up again but this time, it wasn’t from shame.

I swung open the door and hustled inside as the little greeting bell dinged above my head. A friendly, tired-looking woman appeared from behind a door and came over to the desk I was now waiting at. “How can I help you?” she asked. “Hi there,” I said, conscious that my puffy eyes were likely betraying the tears I had cried in secret half an hour before. “Can I hear more about the little kitten on the poster out there?” “Oh!” She smiled in a kind of sad way, and her brow creased in the middle as she said, “Yeah, that one is a bit complicated. She was born with a heart defect, and she probably won’t live very long... she’s damaged goods at this point, I’m afraid.” “Could I see her?” I asked. “Sure thing, doll,” said the friendly woman. I stepped back from the counter as she disappeared back behind the door, crossing my arms. It was cold in here.

I heard a faint meow from somewhere in the back, prompting me to return to my post against the front desk. The woman appeared again, her back to me as she opened the door with her hands full. “Here she is,” she said compassionately, with an undertone that distinctly said: “she isn’t much.” I reached out for her and as the kind woman let go, I could hardly believe how light she was. I pulled her close to my chest and she nestled into the crook of my arm, almost as though she was hiding herself from the rest of the world. I looked up at the nice lady behind the desk, and she smiled empathetically, knowingly. “Are you thinking of taking her home?” she asked. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I actually think I will, if that’s okay?” I suddenly felt frantic, realising that my question offered an option to have this precious creature taken away from me. “Of course, sweetheart,” said the woman. “I’ll go get the paperwork; it’s just one little form since she’s free.” I smiled and watched her start to walk away again before looking back down at my new ward. “Damaged goods, huh?” I whispered to her. “You’re just like me!”

The woman appeared one final time, and I handed my precious baby over to her as I filled out the form. It took all of two minutes. “Odd,” I thought to myself, “how easily they’re giving her away.” I thanked the woman as she passed my scared little girl back to me, and she wished us both well as I pushed those glass doors open again, heading back out to my car.

I drove home in a rush, invigorated by my new companion who had made herself at home in my lap as we drove. She had hidden her tiny face under the hem of my shirt like an frightened ostrich would hide his in the desert sand.

We pulled into my car space at home and I picked her up carefully, nearly forgetting to grab my bag as I quietly pushed the car door shut and hustled to my front door. I absentmindedly realised I had forgotten to get my Thai food, but the thought fled from my mind as I struggled to unlock my front door without further disturbing my precious cargo. I could feel her trembling in my arms, and I wondered if it was the chill hanging in the wet air or the terrifying uncertainty I knew she would be feeling.

I got her upstairs, dropped my bag on my least favourite living room chair, and knelt down slowly onto my plush shag rug. The lights were still off in my apartment, the only illumination coming from the gloomy daylight let in by the windows beside us. I carefully helped her onto the floor and stayed there, knelt and hunched over, waiting for her to give me some signal that she was okay with the rug, with my little home, with me. She slowly stood up from her crouched position and looked around the room briefly before making eye contact with me. I stared back intently, almost as if to telepathically sense her needs, but my concentration was broken when she suddenly walked the few small steps over to me. I sat up enough to allow for room on my lap, which she shocked me by immediately crawling up to occupy. Unsure of myself, I put my hand on her back gently, and I could hardly believe what I felt: a faint, barely perceptible rumbling. I brought my head down, closer to her soft, tiny body to see if I could hear anything, and surely enough, she was purring.

My heart leapt with excitement. She was purring? Already? I lifted her up gently and peered into her tiny blue eyes, which were staring back at me filled with acceptance. I smiled.

“You and me,” I whispered to her, my face heating up for the third time that day, my eyes starting to burn once more with that familiar sensation of encroaching tears. I realised now what was causing it, and what had brought it on earlier at the shelter. It wasn't shame anymore, but relief. Glorious, hopeful, blessed relief. “We’re the same.” I brought her close to my face and kissed her, and she nuzzled once more against my cheek. “Thank you,” I mumbled into her furry neck. “Thank you.”