Paperboy. (h.s. au)

04.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, observing my appearance tonight. I had always wondered why I had been the only person in my family to have dark curly hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. David had fair skin as well, but with straight blonde hair and light brown eyes, much like my mother and father. Though my mother's hair is quite unruly like mine. Although I am not the biggest fan of my looks, I do like the fact that I have blue eyes. I like that they change in the sun from dark blue to almost grey. My hair is simply all over the place. I keep it long, as when it was short it resembled a bush. This doesn't mean it isn't bushy now, it's just a bit more manageable. I have always wished to have straight hair. My life would be so much easier if I had been given it.

Both of my friends have straight hair, actually. I'm their polar opposite. Lily, my best friend since sixth grade, is tall, blonde, thin. She could be a model, and she knows it. I ignore her ego, however. She has been a great friend to me for the most part. My other friend, Victoria, could be her sister. The only difference between them is their eye color, really. While Lily has blue eyes, Victoria has brown. I haven't really seen them too much since school ended, though. I make no move to until they do. Being stubborn really isn't fun when your friends are the same way.

A lot of the time, I feel extremely self conscious about all of this. Unlike them, I am short, curvy, and simply not beautiful. I don't hate the way I look, I've only grown to ignore it. I ignore the awkward birthmark on my right hip that looks like a distorted half moon when I wear a bathing suit, I ignore my crazy hair texture, I ignore all of my insecurities as much as I possibly can because when I give them the slightest bit of attention, the other thing I try my hardest to ignore comes back.

Two years ago, along with my good friend, Anxiety, I was diagnosed with Depression. The doctor said it was pretty bad, that it was a bit more than a self-esteem issue, and I agree. My self-esteem is exceptionally low. The problem is getting it to rise after it falls, usually clumsily because I am, t times, quite rough with it. I've been taking anti-depressant medication every morning after breakfast. Since then, and the depression is, for whatever reason, my biggest issue when I am alone with nothing to distract me. To distract myself, I bury my problems in work, school, photography. This only works for a short while until I get restless. I have a hard time staying concentrated, and often feel stuck without knowing what to do.

There's one thing I have going for me. I have an eye for the art of photography. I've always been able to take one thing and either A.) make it beautiful or B.) capture it's beauty. Or, of course, find the dark things and capture their darkness. It's nice to be at least kind of good at something. I've thought about maybe going to school for that, but after thinking about it, I knew it was a long shot. People don't go to school for photography just because they're "handy with a camera." There will be people way more qualified to have their work looked into, more people with more talent than I.

There's always a better option.

• • •

After my hearty dinner of leftover pizza from the night before, I lay awake in bed thinking about my day. My thoughts wander to the boy I met at the pool this afternoon. Harry. I have never seen him around before, so that makes me think that he's new here. He seemed to be around my age, maybe a bit older. His hair, too, was a mess of curls. His seemed much more manageable, despite the shorter length. I shake my head slowly, and try to dispel the thoughts of jealousy over a boy's hair. I wonder why he had an English accent. This is Oregon. Rainy, cloudy, boring Oregon. Why would he come here if he lived in Europe? I tack that question onto the end of the ever growing internal list of things I could have said to him this afternoon but did not.