Birthday Suits

12: Hugh Tyson

12: Hugh Tyson

 

            There was an evident shift within the student body at Belle's high school. Well, she liked to think there was. People seemed to be friendlier, more accepting. Compliments were thrown around the courtyard during the final minutes of lunch while her peers were waiting for classes to begin again. Conversations were exchanged between people who hadn't talked at all prior to that discussion.

            It was wonderful.

            But that wasn't the case with all students and Belle didn't expect it to be. As long as at least one person understood her message, she felt like she had succeeded. Some students were still sceptical about the anonymous blog. Some were still confused and slightly freaked out about how someone could possibly obtain this much information about a school. And some were simply unaffected by the whole situation.

            However, during lunch, while Belle was scraping the last of her strawberry yoghurt and reading over her chemistry notes, she noticed Hugh Tyson. He was sitting on the grass by himself, looking at a half-eaten sandwich in his hands. A couple of trees away, a group of younger students walked by. They laughed, calling out 'pig' and making offensive sounds to anyone who would listen. Such insults weren't directed at anyone in particular, but Hugh crushed the bread in his hands, the filling overflowing from his fingers as he pushed himself from the ground, stalked over to the bin, and threw it out.

            Then he returned to his bag, shaking slightly, wiping furiously at his eyes before picking up his bag and quickly leaving. Belle instantly shut her textbook, threw her empty container in the bin, and followed him. Hugh's footsteps were rushed, but he had a purpose. There was determination in his stride. He walked straight into the closest building.

            Belle followed and watched behind a row of lockers as he walked straight into the bathrooms. She waited a couple of minutes, bouncing on her heels for him to return, but when he didn't, she got worried. Then there was no stopping her. Nothing would make her turn around. Without thinking, she marched straight into the boys' bathrooms.

            She would deal with the punishment later. There was a boy who was in need.

            When she turned the corner, Belle instinctively started to squint, preparing to shield her eyes whilst in the presence of a peeing male. She was sure he would have wanted privacy. But when she noticed it was empty and the only closed stall was the only belonging to Hugh, she relaxed slightly.

            Then she heard it.

            Hugh.

            But he wasn't crying.

            No.

            He was purging.

            Belle was so upset, so hurt, so heartbroken to witness an eighteen-year-old throwing up his lunch because he didn't like the way it made him look. The way it made him feel.

            She had to act fast. Someone could walk in any moment and find her in there. So, she quickly pulled out a highlighter and a napkin and started writing down a note, careful to make the writing look different from her usual scrawl. Quiet sobs came from the bathroom stall, a whisper of insults to himself as he retched and gagged. With a shaky hand, Belle swiped her hand across her eyes and quickly slid the napkin under the stall.

            Hugh Tyson, you may not think you're beautiful, but I do.

            "Who...who's there?"

            Belle quickly left the bathroom.

            That night, Belle wrote a post about Hugh. Eating disorders affected both men and women and they were serious illnesses. She knew an anonymous message on a napkin written in blue highlighter wasn't going to miraculously make it go away. She knew a blog post with his name on it wasn't going to make it go away. She also knew announcing it to the world was not going to help. She didn't want him to feel pressurised or stressed or guilty or upset. But she wanted him to know that she was there for him. That his health mattered to her. So, with that in mind, she wrote the next blog post.

            Beauty isn't a number. It's not how many inches tall you are. It's not the distance around your waist. It's not the digits that appear on the scales. It's not the amount of birthdays you've had. Beauty is not a measurement. Beauty is words, kindness, talents, and smiles. Beauty is hard work, determination, passions, religion, race. Beauty is having dreams, ambitions, goals, thoughts. Beauty is you. Hugh Tyson may not think he's beautiful, but I do.