Beauty’s Awkward Friend
She was beautiful in so many ways. But with her hair pulled tight back, and her shirt loose and shapeless, the beginning of a bra shone through, and she seemed to be aware of this. Her pants sagged, making any high school curves non-existent, and most prominent of all, her head hung low, and hips moving awkwardly back and forth, she walked consciously aware of each step, each noise, each person. But I had seen her before, with a a friend, and the two of them smiling..suddenly there I was smiling myself. But now, alone she fidgeted awkwardly, two enormously jersey clad boys in front of her, laughing and strolling towards a similar destination, they both passed me. I had seen her work before- she was an artist- and an amazing one at that. They displayed her work often, and I had seen it along the halls we both now walked, progressively getting closer to each other with each step, the boys laughter echoing ominously now farther down the hall.
She drew, it seemed, almost entirely images of nature- flowers in threes, sometimes in full bloom and color, others mere buds of black and white, never allowing the two to mix. Suddenly though, I was fascinated as to why. Did buds not deserve color? Was Potential a monotone-d thing? Perhaps she would tell me that everyone has potential, but few people witness the beauty and color of success. And what of only drawing nature? I knew that was not the assignment, I had not that long ago. Did she find humans difficult? Or maybe she believed nature, the purest form of expression, simpler, and more becoming.
She was growing closer now, her beautiful art on the walls contrasting with her confidence, as one was simply radiant, and the other nonexistent. I wanted to smile at this girl, and God knows I wasn’t concerned about what it might look like to others if I did, I was simply more concerned about seeming genuine. In fact I wanted to provide her with the warm and genuine beauty that her art had done for me, I wanted even, to see that pass her face; bypass her crooked teeth, her acne. I wanted to see her smile, so much; the emotion of happiness would be done a glorious bit of justice.
She passed and I felt my face smile, what felt incredibly awkward. But she didn’t look!
“Hey!” I said, and she looked, I smile, and she looked scared. Damn.
“I’ve seen your work” I said attempting to salvage my efforts. “It’s amazing stuff.”
Her face changed, her awkward nature disappeared, and she smiled again, blooming like her own flower.
