Longing Bliss

She was perfect. She was practically flawless as she walked through the school hallways. She had the perfect body, and the perfect hair. She always looked stunning, and everyone wanted to look like her. I watched her every single day, as well as everyone else. We examined her, studied her, and did our best to mimic her behavior. She was the rule maker, and everyone followed her direction. When she spoke, we absorbed her words and took them to heart. 

            I always observed her behavior from afar, but some preferred to get first hand advice. I remember listening as she would speak to someone. On Monday morning, she spoke to one of the younger girls. I knew the girl; she was quiet, and kept to herself. Her sleeves never traveled any higher than her palms. When she walked she watched the ground, as though she was afraid of making the wrong move. I had never seen her lips curve upwards into a beautiful smile.

            The flawless girl would look at the young girl and say,

“You’re to quiet. You always look sad. Maybe you should be happier. Then you’d have friends.”

And the beauty would walk away, leaving the girl to her thoughts.

            That day after school, I watched the girl walk home. Before she approached her house, she sat behind a large tree where she believed she was hidden from the world. I watched as she pulled out a small mirror from her backpack. She slowly opened it and looked at herself. She did not smile. She did not admire the reflection in the small mirror. She desired to be happy, but she did not know how. She took the round piece of glass and hit it against the tree, shattering it into many pieces. She slowly picked up the sharpest piece and stared at her reflection in the broken piece of glass once again. Tears began to fall from her distraught eyes and they made small streams down her cheeks. No one dried them, and no one comforted her. She wiped away her own tears on her sleeves before pulling the material up to reach her elbow. For the first time, I saw why she continually tugged her sleeves down farther and farther everyday, for on her delicate, pale, skin, there were bright red stripes that were never seen. Her fingers delicately traced the painful lines before she picked up her shattered blade.

I heard her whisper, “I cannot be happy. I will never be good enough.” before touching the sharp point to her skin.

            On Tuesday morning, the girl that everyone wanted to be approached another girl. This girl was different from the one yesterday. She was simple and sweet. She had friends and was liked well enough. She did not appear to have the most confidence, but she seemed pleased with who she was. However, she didn’t have the one thing that she really wanted.

            I watched as Miss Perfect walked over to her.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” She said, “Everyone is in a relationship. What’s wrong with you?” And the beautiful girl would walk away, leaving the simple girl to her thoughts.

            I watched the sweet girl leave school. However, instead of walking in the direction of her neighborhood, she walked towards the football field. Standing near the bleachers was a boy. He was attractive and loved attention. Everyone knew him; he knew how to make someone feel special. His reputation was not as good as it sounds.

            A shy smile appeared on the girl’s face as she approached him. He did not see her, he only saw what she could do. His hands slowly caressed her face, pulling a bigger smile from her lips. Then he took her hand and led her towards his car. Although she did not say anything, you could hear her whisper,

“I am not beautiful. I am not good enough. He will make me feel loved.”

She sat in the passenger seat with her eyes full of longing, a longing to be loved.