Aiden's Quest

by Dane Bagley

There are all sorts in this world—short, tall; fat, skinny; black hair, brown hair, blond hair, long hair, short hair, curly hair, straight hair, thick hair, thin hair, no hair. There are those who are muscular and those who are weak. Straight teeth, crooked teeth, white teeth, yellow teeth, missing teeth—there are even those who are toothless. Some bodies are perfectly proportioned, yet many have odd proportions—some subtle and some extreme. Some have blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes and more—inset eyes, bulging eyes, and those in the middle. There are eyes that look gentle and eyes that look cruel; eyes that look fearful, and those that are frightful. Eyes that are fixed, and those that wander. People have big noses, long noses, those that point up and those that point down, and those that are round. We have black skin, white skin, and every tone of brown—from greyish, to yellowish, to reddish. Some skin is wrinkled and other is smooth, some is flawless and others have scars and marks galore. The vast variety of appearance of humankind is staggering. Some are beautiful and others are not. Some are ugly or even hideous.

  Despite these varieties and differences, most people find a companion—someone who loves them and is attracted to them as they are. Even people that are not beautiful have a companion that is attracted to them.

  “But wait,” someone may say, “I have two points to make concerning this. The first is a cliché: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And the second point is that attraction has to do with many of a person’s attributes, not simply external features. Indeed, a person may be attracted to another for many reasons besides how the person looks.”

  To which I say, I am in entire agreement with the second point. But the first point, cliché or not, is simply not true. Beauty is beauty, no matter who is doing the beholding. Lack of beauty is also not subjective, and neither is ugliness. Each of these are attributes, and are apparent to all.

  “Now hold on, you have described the various shapes, sizes, colors, and differences of many different people, and you have said that in most cases someone is attracted to them. How can beauty not be in the eye of the beholder?”

  Ah, we have mixed two things and treated them as one. Attraction and beauty are not synonymous. Beauty is absolute and attraction is relative. This is so easy to confuse because attraction and beauty do go hand in hand so often. Beauty is something that attracts, but beauty is not attraction. Most people like the taste of sweet, but to say that something tastes sweet and that it tastes good is not the same thing. Some things that are not sweet taste good. Not all things that are sweet taste good to all people, yet everyone would agree that all things that are sweet are in fact sweet. Beauty is of great worth and it is attractive, but it is not equally attractive or of the same value to all people. The value we place—how attractive beauty is—is in the mind of the beholder.

  Perhaps another illustration would be helpful. It has been wondered whether two individuals may perceive the same color differently from one another. In all likelihood, color blindness or color deficiencies have contributed to this query. Certainly, a person with normal color vision and a person with a color deficiency may call the same color by different names. One may call something brown, and another may call it green. Does this mean that they looked at the same thing and perceived it differently? The answer is yes. To one it looked brown and to the other it looked green. Because of the difference of their opsin’s, each persons’ retinas send different responses to their brains, and so in one the brain perceived brown, and in the other brain green was perceived. But the real question is about perception, and not about faulty signals. If both individuals—both brains—received an identical signal from their retinas, both brains would have perceived the same color. Two individuals with normal color vision will send their brains the same signal when looking at the same color and both will perceive it identically. The same shade of blue is perceived identically to both individuals, just as salt tastes the same to everyone with normal taste function.

  So, a particular shade of blue causes the normal eyes to both send the identical signal to the brain. Then the brain perceives a sensation of color. Both people have been told that when they perceive that color that it is called blue, so both people say that it is blue. But how do we know that they both internally perceive an identical perception? Is it not possible that two individuals see the world in different colors, yet describe them identically because they have both been taught that this is blue, or this is red? Does blue or red look to you the way that blue and red look to me? The answer is yes, because blue is not subjective. Blue is blue, meaning the perception in our minds. It is real, it exists, blue is a real thing. All human minds, and perhaps all minds, that have eyes capable of sending the signal for blue will perceive blue. If we could correct the opsin’s in a color deficient individual and their eyes sent the correct signals to the brain, then their brain would perceive the exact same colors as anyone else’s.

  But, and this is the important part, just because two individuals see blue the same, doesn’t mean that they value it identically. For one, blue may be their favorite color, for the other it may be very unappealing. They look the same, but they are not appreciated identically. Foods taste the same to individuals, assuming correct taste and olfactory sensors, yet what is liked and what is not liked varies tremendously between individuals. One person may feast upon it, and the other is disgusted by it. A song sounds the same to both people, but one may love the song and another hates it.

  Beauty is perceived the same from one individual to another, but its value or attractiveness is what can vary tremendously. In fact, people can be attracted to ugliness. Foods that have strong, unpleasant flavors many people have an acquired taste for. Music that may be repugnant to most may be pleasurable to some. Art that is clearly ugly is attractive to some. They may mistakenly say that, “it is beautiful to me,” by which they mean it is pleasing or attractive. Yet, if it is ugly it cannot be beautiful. Variety or some of that which would be considered ugly, if lightly contrasted to beauty can enhance the attractiveness. A dark mole on a beautiful woman’s face may actually enhance her appeal. A blemish is not beautiful but it may be very attractive. Music in minor contains discord, yet it can be so appealing. Bitter is not sweet, yet bitter may enhance the desirability of a particular food. The bottom line is that beauty is real, it is absolute, it is not subjective, but its value can vary from one observer to another tremendously.

  Be that as it may be, I want to cast the readers mind upon a scene of exquisite beauty. In this view, there is a pleasant home. There is green grass, flowers along the side of the home, and trees surrounding. In the distance, there is a gorgeous view of a mountain top climbing so high it looks as though it will pierce the sky. The sky is blue, with some fluffy white clouds gently moving. It is late afternoon, or early evening, and as such the shadows are beginning to lengthen. There is a very gentle breeze that is moving the smaller branches lightly. Near the home there is an extended porch, and upon the porch is a young girl of about fifteen. She has on a blue, full-length dress. If she were standing it would come to her ankles. But she is sitting, and to our view we see her profile. Her feet are toward the house and are bare. At this moment, her face is towards this perspective and the breeze is gently blowing through her shoulder-length, straight, blond hair.

  Our perspective is quite distant, allowing us to take in the whole home, the landscape and the scenery, so that we cannot see clearly the features of the girl. After beholding this beautiful scene, we zoom in our perspective to the young lady. We can see her features now plainly, if only momentarily as she turns her head and looks down towards her feet. She has lived with an unusual characteristic in appearance: she is without beauty. Yet, she is also devoid of ugliness. Her features contain nothing of the beautiful and nothing of the ugly. She is plain, completely and entirely plain. There is nothing in her that would cause someone to smirk or to be unkind. There is nothing to make fun of, or to tease because of exaggeration. She may not be called beautiful, but neither could she be called homel
y. There is nothing homely about her. She is just plain—boring, uneventful, uninteresting, forgettable, and up to this point in her life she has not been attractive to anyone. She is not unattractive, as this would require something of the ugly which she does not possess, but rather she just is not attractive rather than unattractive.

  She has lived this way her entire life, so it is not uncomfortable to her. She has never been mistreated. She has friends, though not a close or best friend. She is liked by her peers, though not adored. She is not the person that is looked for when she is present, nor missed when she is absent. She does not know what it would be like to be the center of attention for she has never experienced it before. She is loved by her parents, and has a good relationship with them as well as her extended family. She is content in life; she does not feel anything is amiss. She does not long for attention, or to be attractive to others. She is not unattractive, nor is she ignored, shunned, or mistreated. Hers is a fine simple life, and she is not wanting. Her name is Sarah Peningham.

  When Sarah looked toward her feet she began to play with her left toes with her left hand. Though her gaze was in this direction, she was not really watching her fingers play with her toes. She was daydreaming. This was not willful daydreaming, and she was not fantasizing, rather her mind was wandering—seemingly uneventfully. She was not asleep, but this daydream took on some of the unusualness of a nocturnal dream. What she saw before her, playing on the porch, were three babies. In her daydream, she understood them to be her children. None of the three looked similar enough to be siblings, however. The other oddity was their ages. One was an infant sitting in a carriage cooing and wiggling his fingers and toes. Another was a six-month old baby struggling to sit up and playing with his toes. The final was a one-year-old baby, attempting to stand. Sometimes it would succeed and clap for a moment, only to then promptly loose his balance and fall on his backside.

  The babies were each cute, happy, and full of life. Sarah smiled pleasantly at the scene before her mind’s eye. It did not occur to her the strangeness that these three babies could all be hers, and yet were each only six months apart in age. The babies ignored each other, as young children often do, and Sarah’s attention went from one child to the next, enjoying each of them in their own way. This was her first maternal daydream. Something was changing—awakening within her. She was growing up, maturing, and becoming a woman. She was entirely unconscious of this change.

  Along with this change, something else was happening. For the first time in her life she had crossed a threshold. At this exact moment, her physical appearance took on a trace of beauty. Her development into womanhood showed promise of being kind to her looks. Interrupting her daydream, her mother called to her from within her home. She got up slowly and walked into her home.

  “Sarah, honey, it’s time to get you ready for the dance.”

  A big annual youth dance was this evening, and Sarah’s mother, remembering fondly her own experiences many years earlier at this annual event, was feeling excited for her daughter. Sarah bathed and put on a lovely light pink, knee-length dress. She walked into her mother’s room with her wet hair dripping; she sat down on a stool in front of the mirrors and began brushing through her hair.

  Her mother joined her and took over the beautification, as it were. Sarah’s hair was so straight and short that there was not much her mother could do with it. She tried bows, ribbons, and barrettes of various sizes and colors. Her mother chatted pleasantly throughout the primping, about the dance. Sometimes it was historical in nature and sometimes it was current events. Sarah hardly spoke but listened with delight. She did not have any particular expectations for the evening. She would be asked to dance, she was sure, but she did not expect anyone to take any particular interest in her; they never had before. Eventually her mother found a bow that suited her. Sarah was putty in her hands. Her mother made her up on occasions, such as this, as she saw fit and Sarah appreciated every minute of it. Mrs. Peningham never sought Sarah’s opinion and Sarah never even considered giving one. The white bow selected suited Sarah fine.

  Next the make-up was applied. She took her time and had Sarah turn for various profiles in the mirror. They were both chatting and laughing pleasantly. When her work was completed her mother asked her to arise to take a good look at her. She looked her up and down and then stared at her in her face. The gaze lasted longer than expected and Sarah dropped her eyes.

  “Look at me, honey,” said her mother pleasantly.

  Sarah looked her mother in the eyes and smiled softly.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said softly and significantly.

  The words did not resonate immediately. Sarah had heard these words before, but not once had they, or anything like them, been directed at her before. After a moment they began to sink in and she blushed slightly. Her heart began to warm and beat more rapidly. The excitement she began to feel lifted her spirits and her countenance took on even more beauty as her blush was replaced with a smile.

  “Really?” she asked.

  Her mother looked upon her with a surprised but pleased expression. She had never seen physical beauty in her daughter before, as it had never been there, and she was unable to take her eyes off of her. Understand, she was only slightly beautiful, yet this beauty, enhanced by the carefully modeled make-up and hair, and then magnified by her brightened countenance, was breathtaking to her mother.

  “Sarah, honey, you really are beautiful. You look so pretty. I hope you have a wonderful evening tonight.”

  Joy filled Sarah’s heart, and she looked at herself in the mirror for nearly a quarter of an hour. She was pleased with the make-up, her dress, and her hair. Still, she didn’t look so different to herself. The words, ‘you’re beautiful,’ continued to sound in her ears, and gave her mood a delightful delirium.

  She could not recall what happened from this time to the start of the dance. But there she was at the dance. It had been going for some time. Her spirits were still elevated and her face beamed brightly, however, so far, she had not been given any particular attention. Friends, and some of the boys, extended the usual courtesies, but no one seemed to notice anything special or different about her. The dance had been going for about an hour, and still no one had asked her to dance. The band struck up a favorite and popular slow song. It seemed that all of the boys were getting up to ask for a dance. Jimmy Smithy began to head towards her. He seemed to be looking at her, and she prepared herself to accept his invitation. He was a nice boy that she had known since they were children. He had grown taller this year and looked a bit gangly, but was handsome enough.

  As he approached she smiled sweetly, but he did not acknowledge her at all. He walked right past her, even brushing against her shoulder, and then asked Maryanne, a perky red-head, for the dance. Sarah turned instinctively, and in seeing the happy pair felt her heart sink. Whatever joy and brightness she had been feeling began to dissipate. She turned around, red in the face again, and saw that the floor was filling up and she, all by herself, would soon be in the way. No other potential partners seemed to be looking at her, nor making their way towards her. Her head dropped and she made her way towards the punch bowl. She was not thirsty, but she had to occupy herself with something during this song. She would be one of the few sitting this one out.

  “Who is she?” John asked his buddy Kevin.

  “Who?”

  “Her,” he said pointing to the girl in the light pink dress heading over to the punch bowl.

  “I don’ know,” he said turning his attention away and looking around the room. John and Kevin were both seventeen, handsome, tall, and muscular. John was the better looking of the two, but they were both very handsome young men. They had both just walked in, fashionably late. Kevin was frustrated that most of the girls had already been taken for this dance.

  “Seriously, she looks familiar. Who is she?”

  “Oh,” said Kevin, somewhat annoyed by having to take a closer look, “um…that�
�s just Sarah Peningham.”

  “Sarah Peningham? Do I know her? Wait…Sarah, that’s Sarah.”

  Kevin wasn’t paying any attention. John looked at her for a moment across the room with a surprised look on his face. He then turned his gaze and looked over the dance; the room was full of dancing couples then. His thoughts began to move on, but something made him look back. She was standing looking over the dance, all alone, holding a cup of red punch that she was entirely uninterested in. There was something in her eyes that caught his attention. Sarah Peningham was not in his league, but somehow the girl standing over there was. He hesitated for a moment longer and then made his way towards the punch bowl.

  Sarah noticed that John was walking towards her, but not for one moment did she think he was heading to her. She continued to look on at the dance until he was directly in front of her.

  “If you don’t mind being away from your punch that you haven’t touched, I would love to have this dance.”

  She looked up curiously and into his eyes. He was addressing her? John Bennett was asking her to dance? His eyes told her that he was in earnest, so she put her cup on the table and gave him her hand. Just that simple touch and she could tell how strong he was. She had never been asked to dance, or even been addressed, by someone like John Bennett. Soon his arm was around her waist and they were moving to the beat. Her heart was fluttering, not out of any infatuation—rather out of pure discomfort. Was she glad that she had been asked to dance? —and by John Bennett no less? She did not know, but what she did know was that her head was spinning with confusion.

  John was speaking to her, and though she could hear him, she did not comprehend a word of what he was saying to her. She smiled and nodded throughout the dance in reply, but she was only reacting instinctively to his inflections and facial expressions. The song was already half-way over when their dance began, but it seemed as though the dance would never end. She wanted to flee as soon as the song was over, and hide herself, perhaps for the remainder of the night. Though her mind did not think these thoughts, or any other thoughts clearly, she felt inside as though she were the brunt of a cruel joke, or that perhaps he had lost some bet. Somewhere, though she had not seen it, boys must be pointing and laughing at her. John, too, would enjoy a hearty laugh afterwards. Whether any of this was true or not, at the very least she felt that she did not belong in his arms for even one dance.

  The song ended and she removed her left hand from his right shoulder, muttered a, “thank you for the dance,” and started to turn away. He did not let go of her right hand that was in his left. She turned back and looked up at him fearfully. He smiled and looked at her curiously.

  The music had already begun for the next song; it also was a slow one. “I thought that you nodded when I asked you for the next dance, too? This one was so short, and we’ve hardly gotten to talk. Do you mind dancing with me again?”

  She understood the words this time, but there was such a disconnect between what she was experiencing and what she was feeling. He looked at her reassuringly, still not returning her hand. Sarah’s rapid heart rate actually began to slow and her breathing eased. Never had any boy wanted to stay and dance a second song with her before. Never had any boy looked her in the eyes as John did at this time. A rush of emotion washed over her insecurities and left her with a warm and joyful feeling. John Bennett was showing an interest in her; he saw something in her that he liked; he wanted to be with her; he was attracted to her. This sensation she had never so much as imagined before.

  Sarah returned her hand to his shoulder and they began to dance again. Her heart began to race again, but this time the emotion was different—this time it was pleasant.

  “You look very pretty this evening,” he said and she blushed. “You’ve grown up so much, I hardly knew who you were when I saw you tonight. Actually, truth be known, I had to ask my friend Kevin what your name was.”

  “Kevin knows my name?” she said out loud, but not really to John. Sarah was stunned. John and Kevin actually know who I am.

  “Sure he knows your name. I do too. I guess I just took one look at you and lost my mind.”

  The self-deprecating compliment was lost on Sarah. But what she did notice was that she was enjoying herself. She liked how strong and secure he felt. She liked being the center of his attention. She mustered the courage to gaze into his eyes while he gazed into hers. He was so handsome—powder blue eyes, light brown, short but styled hair, mildly cleft prominent chin, and a perfect smile.

  Sarah’s glow was back, and then some. She ventured a smile that was thoroughly appreciated—she could tell by the expression in his eyes. What did John see in Sarah? Her beauty was subtle at best, though she was made up very nicely. Her glow about her had been impressive, but her countenance had dropped by the time John had seen her. What John saw when he looked across the room at her, as she looked over the dance, was something he had never seen to that extent before. He saw goodness; he saw purity and innocence. He saw her permeating through her external shell. He caught a glimpse of the real Sarah, the eternal Sarah, who she had always been and who she would always be. Her external beauty did not compare with her internal, but neither did it distract from it. She was in possession of some external beauty and she had no features to repel or to diminish. Her simple beauty was sufficient when mingled with the glimpse John had of who she truly was. John was attracted to Sarah—more attracted to her than he had ever been to another young lady before. In such a short space of time he could no longer picture his world without her in it.

  Sarah’s attraction to John was not so singular or pure. He was tall, strong, handsome, popular, clever, and though all this she had known before, most importantly he was showing an interest in her. More than an interest, he seemed to be captivated by her, and that felt overwhelmingly good to her. Her attraction was building as she felt powerless to withstand the feelings emerging within her. Her rationality had not abated entirely, however, and she still couldn’t believe what she was feeling and experiencing. It was getting harder to deny or disbelieve what was happening to her as they danced. They chatted pleasantly. They were both unaware of anyone or anything else around them. They each held the other in their world with an unblinking gaze.

  This time the songs end was bitter and disconcerting to Sarah. She didn’t want to run away. She didn’t want to leave his presence, nor turn her gaze from his handsome face. She didn’t want him to return her hand, nor release her waist. She lingered with one hand on his shoulder and the other in his hand. She did not back away, nor drop her gaze. She had something then and did not want to lose it.

  John loosened her hand, but not her waist. His left arm went around to her back and he drew her in closer to him. Sarah’s heart leaped as she entered into the embrace. She no longer wondered whether this was really happening as the much shorter Sarah embraced him with her ear against his chest. She could feel the rapid, full beat of his heart. John Bennett had given his heart to Sarah Peningham.

  Chapter 5