Bloom

by Grey, Marilyn

  Two young boys pointed at me through the window. I tried to ignore it, but they kept looking at a paper in their hands, then back to me, revolted.

  Natalie was still talking, but I stopped listening. I excused myself and went to the bathroom.

  That’s when I saw it.

  I ripped it off the cork board and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

  The paper had a lot of words, but I couldn’t stop looking at the pictures of myself. One, before the fire. The other, me on my bed, topless, as James snapped pictures of my scarred chest.

  I paced in the bathroom, feeling like a seventh grader all over again. My hands and legs shook. I couldn’t tell if I was angry or hurt. Or scared. Scared to death that the entire world was seeing the one part of me I never wanted anyone to see.

  Especially Vasili.

  Right, I thought. So stupid of me. I didn’t want him to see my body under these clothes, but I entertained the idea of actually marrying him.

  So stupid.

  I leaned against the sink and closed my eyes.

  Back in middle school my dad found me crying in the bathroom after school. Some girls were picking on me for the size of my boobs and the boys went to snap my bra, but realized I didn’t have one. Humiliated, I ran home and prayed that God would give me bigger boobs. I stood in front of the mirror, stretching the skin on my chest and wishing for puberty to kick in.

  My dad knocked on the door. I slipped my shirt back on and unlocked it. He pulled me into his arms and let me cry, but never said a word.

  That night we had root beer floats and watched Free Willy together. At the end of the night he tucked me in, kissed my forehead, and said, “The only person who should be able to make you cry like that is yourself. People can betray you all they want and you’ll survive. Even if it hurts and a few tears come, it will be over soon. Betray yourself and everything inside of you will die. That’s something worth crying about. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded, but had no clue what he meant.

  Until now.

  Twenty Six

  The pictures were everywhere. Stapled to poles. Pinned to cork boards. And even worse ... on the Internet. By the time I got home that day Ella already knew. She came into my room with darkened eyes.

  “What are you going to do?” she said. “Was it James?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. This is horrible. I can’t believe he did this to you.”

  “I’ve decided not to think like that.”

  She tilted her head and set the baby on the floor. “Like what?”

  “So everyone knows my body is no longer what it once was. If some people want to make fun of me, that’s their problem.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not playing these games anymore. This is my life. I may not have the power to make other people nice, but I do have the ability to not pay attention to them.” I sighed, hoping my words would seep from my mind to my heart and maybe I’d eventually believe them. “I’m so tired of negativity. Criticism. Picking apart meals at restaurants. Nitpicking books. Judging people by their appearances and music tastes. I’m so tired of it all, Ella. I want to enjoy life again. People and their ridiculous negative spins on life. They get pleasure from making fun of anything that doesn’t resemble them and their preferences. I can’t stand it anymore. I’m not going to allow James to ruin my life just because people know who I really am. I’m done pretending and hiding. This is me. And life is about more than my stupid skin.”

  Ella smiled a little, then a little more.

  “What? Are you inspired by my rant?”

  “I am. However, I hope you stick to it once you look out the window.”

  “Oh, please. Now what?”

  A reporter stood at the edge of the road with a camera a few feet from her. Close enough to get the house in the background, but far enough to be off the property.

  My pulse quickened as every ounce of tranquility vanished. I gripped the window frame and clenched my teeth, suddenly wishing I had a phone to scream at James until he went deaf. Another joy of the slower paced life, I guess. A lot more difficult to say something you regret.

  “Remember what you said.” Ella stood beside me and peered across the street. “Don’t let people and their opinions bother you.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Be right back.”

  I walked outside saying to myself, “Don’t be angry. Don’t be angry,” over and over again, but let’s face it ... I was fuming.

  Vile, revengeful thoughts poked and prodded my mind as I stood behind the news anchor while she spoke. I tried to smile, but I wasn’t happy.

  The camera man pointed at me and the woman turned around. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. I stared. Blankly.

  She waved me over and said to the camera, “This must be her now.”

  I tried not to notice the fifteen layers of makeup slathered on her skin, and the fake voice she used while the camera rolled.

  I wanted to be bold. I wanted to tell the truth and actually inspire people. This was my chance to do something. But I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t open my mouth, so I turned to walk away. Then I saw Anastasia’s face. Her sweet smile. Her last words to everyone. So simple. Be nice and be real.

  I turned back and leaned into the mic.

  “Wait a second,” the anchor said. “You can’t be—”

  “My ex-fiancé got upset because I refused to put my ring on, and he did this.”

  She looked at the cameraman, then me, dumbfounded.

  “I didn’t make the flyers. My ex, James, and I ... we never had true love. I dated him because I felt sorry for him and I made myself believe I loved him. Maybe because my best friend is in love with love and it rubbed off on me. Maybe I wanted to be married so much that I glossed over the red flags. I don’t know why I did what I did, but I was never in love with James. I don’t think I’ve ever truly loved a man, flaws and everything, until these last few months and it’s not James. Yes, yes, he stayed by my hospital bed for months and months. But love is more than that, you know. It’s not so much the actions as it is the motivations behind them. A guy can bring a girl flowers every day just to get her to have sex with him, while a real lover may never buy his wife flowers, but he knows how she twirls her spoon when she eats ice cream. With James, his motivations were always selfish and so were mine. I wanted to help him because it made me feel needed, and he wanted to cling to me because he didn’t have anyone else to ease his guilt.”

  The woman kept nodding as though I were speaking, but I wasn’t. I looked at the camera, then back to her. “Are you still recording?”

  She nodded and scrambled for words.

  “I’m sorry if this isn’t what you expected, but my story isn’t as inspirational as you think. I didn’t post these flyers. Someone else did to humiliate me, but it’s not working. I’m not pretending anymore. This is who I am. I’ve struggled with depression, thoughts of suicide, and many days found it difficult just to wake up. I’m not secure and confident with my new body. I worry about myself too much. I’m a mess. I’m doing better now, but it’s not easy to lose everything you once were. It’s like my favorite Edward Sharpe song says, ‘Life is hard, come celebrate.’ That’s how I feel right now. It’s not easy, but that’s life. May as well celebrate it, instead of spending our lives complaining about it.”

  I nodded to the camera and the news anchor.

  “I ... okay ... and your name is?” she asked.

  “I’m Sarah. Sarah Jordan. Weren’t you looking for me?”

  “We’re here because of Spencer Parks,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Is he here tonight?”

  I hope my face didn’t look as embarrassed as I felt. Oh, what the heck,
I thought. I had no idea if the camera was still rolling or not, but I looked right into it and smiled. Then I laughed under my breath as I walked away. When I reached the porch I saw Ella standing there, hair parted down the middle, pale white makeup on, and a fake tongue hanging down to her chest.

  That’s what friends are for, I thought, then laughed my head off as the jitters from my on-camera experience faded.

  “Got any champagne for this party tonight?” I said. “I want to make a toast to life and celebrate all of its beautiful disasters.”

  There’s a time and place for honesty. While we were

  all in the living room talking and sipping our champagne, a stop-you-in-your-tracks beautiful woman walked in with an extremely attractive man holding her hand. I wasn’t about to show my true feelings, so I hid every ounce of jealousy inside.

  “Nora!” Ella said, running to her and giving her a warm hug. “So glad you made it. Congrats on your movie. I can’t wait to see it.” Ella turned to everyone. “For those of you who don’t know, this is Nora Maddison. Friend of Heidi and Patrick, and us. She just completed her first movie. Yes”—she tapped the man’s shoulder—“this is thee Spencer Parks.”

  Everyone pretended to act normal as they asked them a bunch of questions.

  “What’s it like to work with Brad Pitt?”

  “Is Kate Winslet really as down-to-earth as she seems?”

  “So, how much money did you make?”

  “What’s your next project?”

  “What was it like to fall in love on set?”

  I observed everyone from the corner of the room. Heidi rarely spoke and watched Patrick out of the corner of her eye. I guess I’d be pretty jealous too if my husband were talking to a woman who looked like that. I didn’t know this Spencer Parks guy though. Handsome, for sure. But the way he snapped his fingers when he wanted Nora to get him a drink irritated me. Thankfully they didn’t notice me. I managed to slip by everyone unnoticed.

  Then, as though she popped out of thin air, Nora gently touched my arm and whispered, “Thank you.”

  I tried to scoot by her.

  “I admire you.” She stood in front of me so I couldn’t pass. “I know you don’t know me very well, but I’m close with Pat and Heidi. Over the last year Ella and I have gotten closer as well, but I don’t have many girl friends. Not many who understand me, anyway.” She waved her hands up and down her flawless figure. “All of this, it’s not who I am. Anyway, let’s talk later. Here’s my number.” She slipped a card into my hand. “Keep in touch.”

  I went back to my room, closed the door, and set the card down on my dresser. Nora and I would never be close friends, but something about her intrigued me.

  I found my ear phones, and decided to read and respond to a few letters while listening to some chill music, as I called it.

  Most letters were normal day-to-day keeping in touch kind of messages. I responded the same until I reached Vasili.

  I decided to write how I really felt, but not send it. If anything, just to be honest with myself and spill my heart for once.

  Dearest Vasili,

  For the first year after my accident I felt like the worst representation of a woman. In fact, I haven’t felt like a woman at all. Women are supposed to be soft and beautiful. Their faces bright and welcoming and their bodies soft and curvy. I never believed a woman needed to be “perfect” to be feminine, but now that I’ve lost my chest and half of my face, I’ve had a tough time believing that I’m worth the love of a man. What man would even want me? That’s what James told me as he snapped those pictures of me. I’m sure you’ve seen them by now.

  I’m not an idealist like my best friend. I didn’t spend my life waiting for Mr. Right to come and sweep me off my feet. As Ella drew hearts on her notebooks in drivers ed, I flirted with the guy next to me. She waited for Mr. Right while I dated a bunch of Mr. Wrong’s. The reason I did that is because somewhere inside I didn’t believe in true love. I came to believe marriage was a sacrifice of your own desires. Period. It could never be this beautiful friendship that melts into a passionate relationship where my own desires became “our desires.” That was far-fetched to me.

  Then I met you. I’m not the type of girl to obsess over a guy. So it’s not like I’ve been sitting here thinking about you all day every day. I think I got that butterflies in the stomach feeling once when you walked in the room, but when I’m with you I don’t need all that fancy stuff. There’s a comfort I feel with you that I’ve never felt in my life, much less at this point.

  I’ve watched you for the last few months. I’ve listened. I can tell you that your favorite color changes weekly, depending on your mood. Last week it was orange. This week, it’s gray again. I know that you prefer to eat soup with a fork instead of a spoon. I know that your eyes twitch when you’re holding back tears. You dream of swimming in the Aegean and visiting ancient churches in Greece. Your mother means the world to you and you take your faith seriously. I’ve seen you live for others, constantly giving up your own desires for them without even realizing it. And you’ve helped me breathe again. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since the fire.

  You’ve always looked beyond my scars. I can’t even recall a time where you treated me any different than a normal woman. You saw Sarah. You saw my heart even when I couldn’t.

  I saw yours too. I’ve been suppressing my feelings this entire time. Telling myself you’d never want me. Natalie is gorgeous and sweet, albeit a little absent-minded. She tries to be a good girlfriend and she’s come to me several times asking for advice. Like what to get you as a gift or what you’d like to do for fun Saturday night. I’ve felt like your sister a lot lately, but then these pictures came out and I realized I didn’t want you to see them. The entire world could make fun of me ... but not you. It would kill any part of me that’s still alive.

  I love you. I don’t know how it happened or how to stop it. I’ve had the worst luck imaginable and I’m afraid to love you. I’m afraid to hear you say you love me too. Could I really ask the man I love to give up a beautiful wife for me? Could I really imagine making love and not giving him the full pleasure of enjoying every part of a woman’s body? Could I really be that vulnerable with the one I love the most?

  I don’t think that’s love, dear Vasili. It wouldn’t be fair to you, which is why I’ll never send this letter. I will photograph your wedding next month. And as I look at you through my lens I’ll whisper these words to you in silence. I’ll love you from a distance and wish you the best.

  I truly wish you the best, my love. You’ve changed my life and made me feel beautiful again. You’ve made me feel alive.

  Thank you.

  Thank you so much.

  Yours truly,

  Sarah

  Twenty Seven

  Gavin smiled from the bottom of the stairs as I skipped down them.

  He switched Adelaide to his left hip. “You’re in good spirits today.”

  “Why, yes,” I said. “I am.”

  “And to what—or to whom?—do we owe this pleasure?”

  “There’s no to whom. Where’s Ella?”

  “Grocery store.”

  “At six-thirty in the morning?”

  He nodded. “She likes to go early. Where are you off to at the break of dawn?”

  “Trying to catch the fog today.” I stepped out the front door. “I want to snap a few pictures of it.”

  “Sounds good. Have fun.” He closed the door behind me.

  Hard to imagine that only a few years back I had an immense crush on him. He became a brother to me. A true brother, unlike Vasili. Those old fluttery feelings seemed so distant. Of course, most of my life before the fire seemed like a completely different life.

  The fog sailed across the open fields like a low slung river of mist. Newly adorned branches poked their tops into the fresh sp
ring air as the morning light pushed it’s golden fingers through the white and grey mass. Soft and wonderful. I watched for a few minutes before looking through my lens. It almost seemed like you could walk on top of the thick fog without falling to the ground. There’s something so magical about nature. Standing there with my camera in my hands, my feet remained on the earth, but my heart traveled somewhere else. Nature, to me, felt like a gateway to another world. Far from the noise and clutter of our culture. When I took pictures of nature’s finest gifts, I never wanted to stop, but sure enough, within minutes the sun would climb higher in the sky and the scene would change. So I clicked and clicked, smiling as I caught stills of something that never stood still.

  After refreshing myself with a cool drink of photography, I headed to my early morning physical therapy appointment with Vasili, hoping my unsealed letter to him would stay sealed inside my heart. For some reason, writing the truth made me feel more uncomfortable seeing him, even if I didn’t tell him.

  I hoped he would bring up the pictures instead of pretending like he didn’t see them. I didn’t want to pretend anymore. It was less embarrassing to admit it and get over it.

  His office was quiet. Only one other person waiting.

  “Sarah,” a young woman said. “Come with me.”

  I smiled at her and asked her name, realizing I had never done so before.

  “Jennifer, but most call me Jenny.” She led me to a different office. “Dr. Maloney will be with you in a few minutes. Vasili isn’t available at the moment.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I sat down, hoping I didn’t seem disappointed.

  Dr. Maloney, a young woman about my age, came in a few minutes later. She was kind and helpful and we went through all of my exercises with ease. She made small talk, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Vasili. Why would he refuse to see me today?