The Fine Line Between

The world is full of deceptions. I’m one of those. I dwell in more places than I’d prefer to be in. I face mirrors on a daily basis. Faces. Each day a face, each day I slowly fade. But then I’m born again somewhere. Somewhere on a face, a hand, a foot. When I disappear somewhere, I reappear in another place, time, person. Who I am is something subjective. My enemies are subjective. Whether it’s a boy from high school, or yourself. Anything is out to get me.

I am Pretty. No, really. I’m “Pretty.” My name is Pretty. My being is derived from an idea of what a person defines as what I am. The goddess Aphrodite herself has ordained me to reside in her being. I am Pretty.

No, I do not look like a preppy cheerleader with blonde hair and blue eyes. But if you think that’s what I am, sure. Why not? Truth be told, I have no face. Yes, I can manifest physically. But interestingly, I manifest more as a thought. An opinion. A varying concept. And I last longer in those forms. More often than not, I am in the eye of the thinker.

In the years that I have existed on this planet, I have seen amazing things, and also terrible things. And I have collected a massive amount of stories along the way. I get bored just existing, you know? In the 60’s to 70’s I experienced a bit of a stretch. These humans are so prone to shifting it often gives me a headache. More so in the 2000’s. God help me, I did not understand myself anymore. Especially when a certain Gaga turned 21. Who’s to say what, or who I’ll be in the 3000’s?

Anyway, one of my favorite stories is about a girl. This girl lived in the 2000’s. Her name is Belle. I had a few glimpses of her life on special occasions. Only when she decides to dress up, and after a thousand or so (exaggerated) outfit changes, I’m finally there. I see the success in her eyes, and the genuine sparkle of belief in me. I could see her from her family’s thoughts as well. I saw her through her mother’s eyes, her brother’s eyes, and through her Nana’s eyes. She was carrying me well.

It was her prom night, and I felt the twinkle of excitement from the place between her spine and her stomach. She had decided to go out with her three friends, because no one had asked them out mostly. But she wasn’t gonna let that thought get in the way of her having a spark-tastical night. The only thing that she’s nervous about is the thought of Johnny Brooks. The boy she had a huge crush on. She was clinging onto a tiny trickle of hope that he would find me in her. Even just a little bit of me.

I zoomed in on the prom to see Johnny Brooks. Boy did he look fine. Even I had to stand back and enjoy the view from the onlookers around the sparkling cafeteria hall that was cleverly fashioned to look like the painting “Starry-starry night.” By Van Gogh. They placed pieces of twisted colored paper on the walls to replicate that intricate texture you can only find on a Van Gogh. It was a breath of fresh air from all of the “hipster” crap kids these days are crazy about.

Belle stepped into the cafeteria with her friends. They stopped to admire the view, and started screaming excitedly against the loud music.

            “I’m gonna go get some punch!” one of the girls screamed. Belle nodded and three of them scooted off towards the food table. I could see her at a 360-degree angle now. Everyone had me in their mind when they looked at her. Some even had the courage to verbally acknowledge me. But Belle didn’t care for their remarks. She immediately scanned the room for the one person whose remark she cared about. Ah. Right there. She made a beeline towards Johnny and stood awkwardly five steps away from him.

            The song had changed to a slow one. It was one of Belle’s favorite songs by Jason Mraz. An unyielding feeling of want churned up inside of her.

            Please ask me to dance. Ask me to dance!

Johnny’s best friend Beck clapped him on the shoulder and started an audibly animated conversation.

            “Dude did you see that Belle chick? She looked H.O.T.”

            “Belle? You mean from Geography class, Belle?”

            “Yeah man! I didn’t think it was her but, lo and behold, girl’s a stunner!”

            “I think she’s okay. But I don’t know. She’s different.”

I felt myself slowly drain from Belle’s face. There was nothing I could do. Right before Belle walks away she hears Beck gasp, “DUDE!” she looks up and both boys were looking straight at her. She walks passed them and I felt something tug at me from outside of Belle.

Instantly, I saw her from Johnny’s eyes. And I felt it. I was being pulled towards a boundary that I rarely cross nowadays. As he watched her walk away, I felt myself morph from a thought, to a feeling, to understanding. Into truth. I was shaking with excitement when I finally settled. I wasn’t Pretty anymore. Johnny had acquired what a lot of humans in the world have yet to, or will never experience.

What he felt, and saw in Belle wasn’t Pretty. It may have started that way, but he understood that it wasn’t enough to explain what he was seeing. To him, She was Beautiful.

            He quickly grabbed her arm. She looked back at Johnny, looking straight into his eyes.

It was like electricity. I felt a little of myself spark inside Belle.

           

            So you see? A little comment like that can eat me up in a snap. But the thought of me can be so fleeting, yet strong enough to experience… Beauty.




© Seed Bunye
The Fine Line Between