Maybe it’s not what’s underneath that counts. Maybe I’ve been lied to my entire life.
Maybe what’s underneath only counts if what’s above it is beautiful.
Which I’m not.
Today is a new day. My mom told me that so many times throughout the years. Whenever I came home upset over something that happened at school, she’d give me a hug and reassure me I could put that day behind me and start fresh on the next one.
Today.
A new day.
I never did, and still don’t, believe her. The people who made fun of me didn’t stop. And the sun rising the next day didn’t erase the past. She meant well, I’m sure, but she couldn’t relate. I’ve seen my mom’s yearbook, her face plastered over almost every page. She was popular, and I only pray she was one of the nice ones. She makes the claim with no evidence to back it up except for the person she is today. We have our tiffs, but she’s a good person.
I’m relieved I don’t have a class until later in the day. Since the campus is only thirty minutes from home, I’m able to keep my job. They work around my schedule, and I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to work with.
I’ve worked at Happy Acres Senior Home since I turned sixteen. I love it here. The people are so interesting with incredible stories to share. Maybe it’s depressing for someone to say her best friends are in their seventies and eighties, but I relate more to them than anyone my own age. Easily. The incident yesterday is a prime example. The people here barely touch the computer, and when they do, they’re not body shaming people.
No one at the senior home will know about the photograph online. They won’t have a clue about how Olivia exposed me and opened me to judgment by my peers. To say she humiliated me is the mild way of putting it. I didn’t go drinking with Janna like she wanted, but the thought crossed my mind more than a few times. I don’t want to start off the year in a bad spot, though Olivia isn’t helping.
I avoided her, staying with Janna last night. I can’t face her. I don’t even know how to react or what to say. People like her thrive on people like me. She’ll be proud of what she accomplished, holding her head up high. Her goal is to make me feel as though I’m worse than a piece of dirt. She wants to make me feel bad about myself.
She’s succeeding, and I hate it.
I’m glad today I have a game of Bingo planned for the seniors. They love playing, and I must admit I do as well. The games make us laugh, and I need that today. Anything to keep my mind off College Slam.
When I arrive, I’m greeted at the counter by Lola. She’s been the receptionist for years before I even started. Granted I’ve only been at the center for two years, but Lola has been there for at least a decade.
“Violet! How is my favorite person in the whole wide world today?”
Lola is the sweetest person, the type of person who brings out the best in everyone. I can’t remember a time she didn’t have a smile on her face. She’s always beaming, her grin wide and inviting. She’s either telling stories of her kids or her soon to be grandchild. Her daughter is having her first and Lola is beyond the moon about it.
“Did I show you the newest ultrasound?” She shoves a black and white blob in my face. “It’s a boy! She’s having a boy! I kind of hoped for sugar and spice and everything nice, but I’ll take the snips, snails, and puppy dog tails! I’m not complaining. I’m sure with Jennie’s eyes and Jason’s hair this kid will be adorable.” She takes the ultrasound photograph from me and stares in awe at it again for a few moments.
“How is school? I haven’t seen you since you started. Is it everything you dreamed? I loved college. I was part of a sorority and dated, and married, a jock. I partied a lot but still got awesome grades. I should put my degree to use now that the kids are all grown up and out of the house. I only wanted to be a mom for the longest time so I quit working when I had Jennie. Now I’m in my fifties and I’m working as a receptionist.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, Lola. Happy Acres needs you.” She’s the first face people see when they walk in the door, and they need a welcoming one.
“Aw, you’re such a beautiful soul, Violet.”
She makes me blush, which I don’t do too often. No one really pays me compliments enough to give me the opportunity to do so. “Thank you, Lola. I’m glad you think so.”
“Who wouldn’t? Everyone here adores you.”
This is the one place I truly feel accepted, and I believe what Lola says. Even more so than at home. I can’t wait to see some of my favorite residents. “Is Roxanne up?”
“Roxanne? She’s been up for hours, already been out here watching that show Live with Kelly. She lives for that show, I swear. I think she likes the man who co-hosts. That woman has a thing for younger men.”
I laugh and wave goodbye to Lola before heading back to the break area where I can toss my Subway sandwich I brought in for lunch. I’m only here for four and a half hours but I’ll need something to eat. I’ll grab a Mountain Dew from the vending machine.
“Good morning, Violet.”
Will Mallet is sitting at the table drinking a coffee. He’s worked at the senior center a little longer than me and is a year older than me. We’re friends, I guess, if only because we’re the two closest in age at the center. Being surrounded by people older than us, even those in their late twenties and early thirties, it’s nice for us to have each other. Sometimes I want to discuss the latest episode of Game of Thrones and not rehash Live with Kelly with Roxanne.
He’s scrolling through his phone, probably on Tumblr or something like that. I never got into many of these big apps the others have. Too much of an opportunity for bullying, and I dealt with that enough at school. I didn’t want to deal with it online, too. Yesterday’s incident proving my point. Besides, most of these apps require friends, and my list would be depressing.
Will is in college, too. I wonder if he saw it. I hug myself, imagining him seeing my bare ass and criticizing me like everyone else. He knows me, though. If he did see it, would he treat me like everyone else? Point and stare? I hope he wouldn’t. I’m not going to bring it up in case he didn’t see it. I don’t want to put it into his mind and make him curious about it.
“How was your night?” I can shoot myself in the foot for asking that. That question opens the door for him to say something if he saw it. Shoot.
“Good. I stayed up late studying. I had a test this morning. Just got here. Still drinking my first coffee of the day.” He holds his mug up to me. “I’m not even sure how I got here.”
“I hear that. I can’t even attempt to take a test unless I’ve had at least twenty-four ounces of Dew.” So I’m addicted to Mountain Dew. Who doesn’t have a vice? Some like cigarettes, others smoke weed, I drink Mountain Dew.
“You’re in your first year, right? How do you like it so far?”
I grab a glass from the cupboard and pour myself water. I’ll save the soda for later. “It’s okay, I guess.” What should I say? That in a short period of time I’ve managed to be completely embarrassed? That in less than thirty days I want to crawl into a hole and die? “I wish I could take most of my classes online.”
“Why can’t you?”
“My parents want me to experience the campus life. I don’t see what’s so great about it, honestly.” That’s why I’m here, anyway. My parents live so close to the college but insisted I stay in the dorms. I fought them tooth and nail for a while but gave in when they said they’d provide a car. Sure, it’s my uncle’s old Chevy Cavalier, and I think it’s about twelve years old, but it gets the job done. I’m only allowed to drive it to work, though.
“Freedom. I love the freedom.”
Sure he does. He probably can drive his car wherever he wants, and he’s attractive enough that I’m sure people don’t try to take naked photos of him and post them online to make fun of him. “You live on campus?”
“No. I rent a house with two buddies, but it’s great. I hated being at home.”<
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I wonder if his home life isn’t that great or if maybe he has a sibling that gets all the attention, too. I don’t want to pry. It’s not my place. “My roommate is not very nice, but other than that I guess it’s been okay.” I mean, if Olivia didn’t exist then the picture wouldn’t have been posted and maybe things could be okay. “I guess she is my only complaint.”
“Well, that’s not too bad then. You’ll always come across jerks in your life. I mean, look at Robert.”
Oh, Robert. Robert is a resident of Happy Acres and he’s anything but happy. He spends his days and nights complaining about everything and everyone. He’s convinced everyone is against him and talks about him. It’s quite the opposite. Everyone here is so used to him and his attitude that we actually look forward to how he’ll react for the day. You never know what’ll come out of his mouth, and the anticipation drives us into competition sometimes.
“Robert’s not a jerk. He’s just … socially challenged.”
“He’s not awkward at all in social situations.”
“Not socially awkward. Socially challenged. He’d prefer to shout and yell than to engage in conversation. Though I think he may have a thing for Roxanne.” Every now and again I catch him opening a door for her or glancing in her direction. I don’t know the back story on Robert, if he’s ever been married. Roxanne hasn’t. She’s almost eighty and never married and no kids. But from her bragging, she’s had plenty of lovers throughout her life. It’s kind of adorable.
“I think so, too.” He takes a drink. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
If it’s that I should get to work, then yes. I really need to get Bingo moving. Some of the residents work themselves into a tizzy if I don’t start on time.
“Why don’t we set them up?”
“What?” He’s crazy. I’m not in the business of setting people up. I don’t think Robert would be too open to it, either. “I’m not so sure that would work.”
Will winks at me. “Think about it. Maybe all Robert needs is a little loving to make him soft and appreciate life a bit more.”
I’ve always thought Will was cute, but he’s not my type. I mean, someone who goes on as few dates as I do shouldn’t really be picky about guys, but he doesn’t fit into how I imagine someone I want to be with. He’s got a boyish face and I think his pants are too loose. He’s sweet as can be, and maybe a little too nice if that can be a thing.
He chugs the last of his coffee and puts his mug in the sink. “Let me know in a few days. I’ve got some ideas.”
He leaves the room, and I’m left to wonder about this.
“C5.” I call out as loud as I can so those that refuse to wear their hearing aids can still hear me. “C5.” I repeat it before anyone asks me to because I know someone will. More than likely Robert. And he won’t hesitate to yell from across the room.
“What the hell did you say?”
Like clockwork, Robert asks me roughly, demanding I repeat myself yet again.
“C5, Robert.” I step away from the front of the room and make my way to the back. I check his card and point to it. “C5.”
“I know that, Violet. You don’t need to point it out like I’m a child or something. Damn kids these days.” I catch the top of his bald head as he shakes it back and forth.
I hide a smile behind my lips. Laughing will only egg him on more, and we’ve almost made it through the entire first game without his outbursts. I’d like to keep it that way if I can.
Will passes by and waves through the glass window. I don’t wave back, not wanting to bring attention to him pointing back and forth between Robert and Roxanne. He forms a heart with his hands and pretends to pulse it. He’s such a nut ball.
“Okay, next is,” I pull the ball out of the holder. “E7.”
“Bingo!” Roxanne calls out so loud she startles me. She waves her card in the air, smiling. She never wins, and I’m happy for her.
“Let me see the card.” I walk over and take it from her, reviewing her dabs. Sure enough, she has a Bingo. “Congratulations, Roxanne. We have a winner!”
“Son of a bitch!” Robert tosses his card aside. He shakes his head in disappointment.
I glance at the window and Will is already gone. I stand still waiting to see what Robert does. His wrinkled face is redder than I’ve ever seen. He plants his palms on the table, shoves his chair back, and stands up. Crap. What is he doing?
He makes his way over to Roxanne and places his hand on her shoulder. “Well, if anyone had to win, I’m glad it was you.” He doesn’t smile, but I think he wants to.
The group of residents stare at what’s happening, and I can hardly believe my eyes when Roxanne lifts her hand and rests it on top of his. “Thank you,” she says, pulling a smile out of him.
In that moment, I think Will may actually be onto something.
Chapter Six
Silent Observer
There you are again leaning over my shoulder
observing every move I make.
You see my slightest twitch,
hear my stomach begging for food,
smell my delicate perfume.
I wonder what you’re thinking.
You’re able to read everything I write,
you see every mistake I make.
I hear you laughing at me in your mind.
I know you sense how nervous you make me.
I’m sure you enjoy making me shake
with fear of what you think of me.
I’d love to watch over your shoulder
watching every move you make,
mocking your slightest twitch,
laughing at your hungry stomach,
smelling your raunchy perfume.
I’d read every word you write,
correcting every mistake you make,
laughing at you in my mind,
making you nervous.
I can’t do that, though, and I won’t.
See, I’m different than you,
and refuse to stoop down to that level.
Deep down I wonder
if you’re crying out for help,
wishing someone would come to your aid.
So you can watch me, mock me, say what you may.
I’ll observe in silence and hope
you’re able to find yourself one day.
^^^
The ball whips past Janna’s head seconds after I slam the paddle against it. I cover my mouth for a second, only laughing once I realize she’s okay.
“Watch it, girl!” She flicks her head aside the moment it’s about to hit her.
“Sorry.” I giggle as I slide my paddle across the table. “I think I’m done.”
“No fair! You’ve won every game. You didn’t even give me a chance.”
“I gave you plenty of chances. You just suck.” I stick my tongue out playfully as I make my way to a big beanbag chair and plop down. “I still think they were good games. You came close a few times.”
I’m not good at any sports, but I can sure kick butt in Ping Pong. My dad and I used to play a lot when I was a kid. Over the years he stopped being so active and our games were tossed to the wayside. I still love to play, though, and sometimes butt the table up against the wall to play myself. You do what you need to in order to be happy in this world. That’s what it takes in mine.
“I have to ask,” Janna says as she squeezes in next to me. “Any run-ins with Olivia lately?”
“Surprisingly, no. She’s been okay, giving me the silent treatment, which is better than what she was giving me. I’d rather she never spoke to me at all so this is perfect.” I think it’s been a week since she said anything to me. I’ve taken to changing in the bathroom or under my covers to avoid anything like last time. When we do see each other, we don’t speak a word.
“I still think you should have confronted her.”
“No. No way. I don’t know where I would end up if I did that. She seems pretty crazy. The post is long gone, so who r
eally cares.” Well, it’s not gone, but it’s so far down on the page that I’m sure no one is taking the time to scroll through it. No one has said anything since those girls so I assume I’m in the clear now. I still feel bad for those whose photos showed up to push mine further down the page. The Olivias of the world won’t give up until everyone who doesn’t live up to their standard of pretty is hurt.
“There’s a party again this weekend. This time at Lance Meier’s place.”
“You’ve been to like four parties in the past six days.” Not that I’m keeping track or anything. It seems like every day, though, she’s asking me if I want to go with her. After that first party I’m not sure if the scene is right for me. Besides, I don’t want to end up drinking again and with everyone around me doing so, it makes it difficult to resist.
“Don’t judge me. So I like to have fun. I don’t stuff my face in a notebook writing poems all day.”
“You know about that?” She knows I write poetry, but I never realized she knew about my notebook, my three subject spiral one I carry with me most of the time. When I’m off campus, I hide my small notepad in my back pocket.
“Of course I do. I’ve seen you in the Quad before writing. Hey—I get it. Your poetry is to you what my art is to me. But get out there. Live life. You have to be low on material.”
I don’t know what she means by that. Writing daily doesn’t require me to be in attendance at a party every day. I’ve written a poem a day for years now. Gosh, I must have been in second grade when I wrote my first one. The daily entries began in high school. My poetry helps me through, allows me to forget about the people with negative things to say about me, taking me into a world only I know. I may not be Emily Dickinson, Maya Angelou, or Sylvia Plath, but I’m not trying to be them. I only want to be me, my words on the page helping me accept who that is.
Ugly Beautiful Girl Page 5