She walked with a smile on her face. Tall, confident, and with purpose. She wasn’t necessarily gorgeous by society’s standards, but she had a simple beauty to her that was only enhanced by the smile upon her face. Everyone she talked to felt their spirits lifted whenever they walked away from the conversation. Maybe it was the genuine expression in her eyes as she held their gazes steadily. Or maybe it was the gentle kindness and caring she displayed as she asked about someone’s day.
For reasons no one could ever define, she was memorable. She wasn’t popular by any means – she had enemies just like anyone else. She wasn’t rich enough to relate to the kids whose parents were doctors or dentists, but she still managed to get along with a few of them. She wasn’t a very good singer and could barely play a simple tune on the piano, and that sometimes bothered her, especially whenever she met someone who could play Beethoven with practiced ease while she could scarcely hum along. She wasn’t good at math, had decent grammar, and was overall rather average.
She sometimes felt like she couldn’t contribute.
Even with her fellow classmates, each of who was studying the same material and doing the same projects, she felt like she was less skilled. They all knew their craft and employed it flawlessly. She helped them willingly, but when the time came for her to need help, she found none. It didn’t bother her too much; she knew they were busy, and she was still very willing to help others out when they needed it. She just wasn’t very noticeable amongst the others, although that was fine with her; she was the wallflower, and they were the bright poppies and lilies and roses.
In spite of it all, she still managed to make an impact on the people she knew. For the girls who struggled with their weight, she was an encouragement, always offering simple and genuine compliments that would lift a girl’s emotions and help her to see herself as she was – beautiful, not to be torn down by the cruel words of society. For the boy who struggled with depression stemming from the constant female rejection, she was a confidant, a friend who he could trust with his secrets, a friend he could love without expecting a romantic love in return but a sweet friendship that was free from rejection.
She wasn’t special by any means – and she’d never seen herself as more than average. But she touched people in a quiet way, changed their world just a tiny bit and made it that much better. She gave of her heart freely, offering friendship to the friendless, help to the struggling, giving and never asking for much in return. Everybody that knew her would agree – she was happy.
And yet…
For all of her happy interactions, she never revealed much about herself – only what was needed, and no more. Her friends knew of her home life. She had a loving mother and father, a little sister who she adored, and a cat who she missed while she was away at school. They knew her triumphs, her sorrows. But they never knew her fears.
It was when she was alone in her room that the smile would drop from her face and she would drag herself into her bed, pulling the sheets around her head. It was when she was alone in her room that silent tears would sting her eyes and a lump would form in her throat. It was when she was alone in her room that she would finally allow herself to be free, knowing that no one would ever know how truly alone and worthless she felt.
Despite her friendships and the love that surrounded her, she still felt the bitter sting of loneliness and the feeling that she would never be good enough. Memories of her junior high and high school years would well up, and she would remember how very insignificant she had been and still was. She would remember the feelings of not belonging, of being looked down upon because she was not like the others, because she still had a sense of kindness and innocence where everybody else was hardened by the world, venomous and hateful. She would remember the terrible insecurity that came with choosing to cover her body more than the girls at school. They were so pretty, and all of the boys fawned over the tanned legs their shorts showed off, or the slim waists they worked hard to maintain. She herself had a slim figure, but because of that natural slenderness, she had no curves where the other girls did and was therefore not as pretty because of it. None of the boys really wanted her; a few of them had even told her as much. Just because she chose to live her life in a way that was comforting to her, she was labeled different, while the world continued to live in the way it was told to. Not that there was anything wrong with the way the others lived, but it wasn’t fair that she was told she was wrong just for being simple. Unique, as her mother called it.
She was afraid of being different, yet afraid of never being noticed by someone, afraid of never making a difference. She was afraid, and she couldn't always define it in black and white. Her fears were several shades of grey mixed in with different emotions and colors. Anger. Red. Inexplicable sadness. Blue. Jealousy. Green. Her fears were a mottled mess that shared no beautiful similarities to a rainbow but instead were more like the color of sprinkles that had been regurgitated.
All of her fears were hidden, however, and she always made sure to plaster that sweet smile upon her face and take it upon herself to be kind to those around her. For who knew their inner struggles? No one ever reveals their biggest insecurities to the world; to show weakness invites the stronger to prey upon the weaker. So she would take it upon herself to see the people around her for what they really were: humans with deeper desires that were crying to be met. So she would meet them, so that none would be like her and go without having their needs met. For none had ever truly known her. And no one ever would, for her mask was perfect. She was simply perfect.
