okay so I have severe scoliosis and I have to wear a back brace and I may or may not need surgery sometime this year.
anyway, this disability of mine made me assume right away that no one would ever like me. who would like a girl who's literally half plastic, anyway?
and then this guys walks into my life- stupid cute smile and hoodie and all- and i liked him.
but it's not like he'd like me back. or so i thought.
on valentines day, he came over to my house with the cutest little succulent in his hands (he knows i'm allergic to flowers). he gave it to me and told me he liked me.
i like him too, but, i'm clearly a mess. and i told him that.
and here's what he said-
"Why? Because of your scoliosis? You know I don't care about that. You are absolutely beautiful. I promise you, you aren't a freak. You aren't deformed. There's nothing wrong. You just have this thing that not many people have. And that's perfectly fine. You're beautiful, okay?"
I cried. That was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
He gave me a tight hug and wiped my tears with his thumb.
"For the record..." He said, turning around and pulling up the back of his shirt.
There was a scar along his back.
He had scoliosis and he had surgery last year.
He turned back to me and put his shirt down.
And that's how I, the half-plastic scoliosis patient, got a boyfriend.
♡
I handed him my camera and ran into the big open field by the lake for him to photograph me by.
"Smile" he called out.
I smiled and made a silly pose.
"Uh oh.." he began. "I think your camera is broken!"
I, confused, ran over to him and asked what was wrong.
"It says you're too beautiful to display"
I melted.
♡
I smile a lot.
And, if I'm being honest, it's more out of habit than anything. I smile when a teacher calls on me and I don't know the answer, and I smile at the pretty girls with their bright red lipstick hanging on to the boys with the slicked over hair, and I smiled during my grandfather's funeral while I starred blankly at his closed casket, because his body was too deterriorated by disease to be seen.
You were the only one to ask me why I smile. You didn't say it in an intrusive way, just a slightly curious one, despite the fact I hardly knew you at the time, just sharing a class once a week.
I had never really seen you smile before, and to be honest I never really wanted to; you always wore a smirk, and it just seemed to fit your face better, just looked a bit more natural.
But, regardless, you asked me, looking at me as if I held this secret to the universe, as if I was going to unlock something within you with some unworldly advice. But, truth is, I didn't have a reason, so I just said what first came to my mind: "Everyone looks like they could use a smile."
It was late one night, after class, and I was hanging out in the studio when I let myself break down. You see, I smile a lot, but really, I fall apart a lot, too. And my best friend, he tried to commit again, and that scar that ran down the length of his arm was reopened, and it's my first time I haven't been there for him, the first time we're across the country from each other, and it was't like at home when I would rub my skin raw in the shower until my mother had to drag me out and wrap me in a fluffy towel like I was three years old again, and it wasn't home where I could curl up inside a closet and scream until the dogs started barking, so loudly I'd lose my breath and passout in the closet until my brother found me, and would tuck me in bed, and it wasn't home where I would walk for miles and miles until I fixed my smile back, and my friends would pick me up and drive me through the country side until I could physically feel my worries blow away in the wind.
I was stuck, in this tiny room in a studio, trying to recompose, trying to make my smile come back, because you shouldn't take your sadness out on everyone else, you should lock it away and take a breath and release on your own terms.
But you found me, because of course you found me, and you just sat down across from me, the toes of your boots touching mine, knees hiked up to your chest, and you just said, "You're not smiling."
And I couldn't help but laugh, really, and I smiled a bit, despite myself, and you smiled back, and I swear to God it was the first time I thought you looked better with a smile than with a smirk, and you nugged my leg a little, and just said, "There it is."
And I scoffed a little, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, and shakily replied, "This is hardly a smile."
You shook your head, "It's my favorite smile I've ever seen on your face, because it was for me."
You've been giving me reasons to smile ever since.
