Saving the Sun

nine: all american girl

chapter nine: all american girl

☾ ☼ Josie McBride

Tuesday, September 29th, 2017

WHEN PEOPLE LOOK AT ME THEY SEE NOTHING BUT A PRETTY FACE.

I'm the nice, pretty, popular girl. I hear all the time, "oh my gosh, when I first met you, I thought you'd be a bitch!"

When I answer every question correct in AP World History and calculus, I get weird stares. Like it must be impossible to be pretty and have a brain.

Things typically came easy to me, I had only picked up cheerleading halfway through freshman year and soon became the best on the team, even out of the senior girls. I had always been smart, I'd won science fairs, spelling bees, and writing contests all throughout middle school and elementary.

However being perfect came at a price. My parents pushed me relentlessly to do better, they nagged and pushed me, like some lifeless doll they vicariously lived through.

When I slipped on a pair of jeans and a hoodie last week, my mother said. "Are you really wearing that Josie pie?" So I changed, into something the perfect daughter would wear, something frilly, girly and pink.

When I told my father that I wanted to be an author, instead of something practical like a doctor or lawyer he didn't take it well. He yelled at me, grounded me, then shunned me for weeks, until I told him that being a lawyer would be interesting.

When I expressed to my mom, I did not love my boyfriend, nor ever did, she just smiled and stroked my hair. "Oh Josie pie, it's not about love, it's about who you know, that boys gonna be something, and you'll want him in your life someday down the road."

"But Ma, I'm not happy," my one and only protest to my parents ever, my whole life I obediently did whatever my parents asked—and boy did they ask a lot.

"Life isn't about happiness, it's about security....look what happened when your sister chased happiness," and with that, the conversation was over.

My parents never mentioned my sister, she's their one and only mistake, she's a reminder that they can't control everything.

My sister who had so much promise, threw it all away, for a baby. Ma begged my sister to get an abortion, I remember it like it was yesterday. I was twelve years old, my sister seventeen, and my little brother Malcolm, six.

I remember it was a sunny afternoon in July, dad was grilling, Malcolm was splashing in the pool with his ridiculous large floaties, and mom was sitting soaking up the sun reading some magazine—life was good back then, my spelling bee trophies were enough to suffice them.

My sister Willa who isolated herself in her bedroom, came down for the family gathering, looking back now, I should have known that meant bad news.

Willa with her nose piercing, black nails and chunky boots in the dead of summer came out into the sun, right in front of my mom, I sat kicking my legs in the pool, watching. Malcolm splashed me and I dunked his head under the water. No one saw, my parents were focused on Willa.

I didn't hear what Willa had told my mom, but I saw the look on her face, and then my dads, and then Willa, who all my life I saw as strong, witty and bold, shatter like fragile glass. She cried to my parents, for my parents, all she wanted was someone to accept her, hold her, tell her everything would be alright, but she got no such thing. I watched from the pool ledge as she stormed back into the house, her mane of curls bouncing furiously.