Every little girl has dreamt of being a beautiful, kind princess, and those of the more tomboyish disposition from early on – dreamt instead of being a handsome, brave knight. But the point is mute: no one wishes to be ugly or mean, plain or stupid. This is my story, a remarkable narrative of several years back, before I realized that the opposite, can, in fact, be true…
Chapter 1
I’m nine today. I know! Nine years old! I feel so proud at every birthday for being older and more grownup. The funny thing is, that feeling doesn’t last long and I soon feel like I’m not any older and that the next year up – ten – is so much older than nine, because after being nine for a few weeks I’ll feel the same as I did at eight, and wishing I were a year older. The whole thing is rather baffling if you ask me, but for now, I’ll be happy feeling ‘old’. In fact, even though I’ll feel young again, and wish I were ten, I really must be getting quite old, since almost everybody admits I’m practically a young lady.
So anyway, I got some really awesome stuff for my birthday; a long beaded necklace with a big pink flower at the end, from Zoe, my little sister who’s only seven. I heard Ronnie and Ted, my older brothers, arguing that Zoe had picked it out herself from her allowance but mom had made her give it to me…either way, I ended up with it, so I’m happy. It’s really pretty; the beads are a pearly white that shine and gleam in the light and the flower has sparkles in it.
Ted and Ronnie got me a game of monopoly and a boring-looking book about ship wrecks – why would I want to read that? They said, quite proudly, that they hadn’t let mom help them pick out the presents…well, that was obvious! I thanked them anyway because it would be mean not too and I don’t want to hurt their feelings; I know how unpleasant that is.
Even if they are big, tough boys, I’m sure they can still feel sad. So, I thanked them, and they looked very chuffed with themselves, which made me feel good inside. Ted is fourteen and he’s always trying to act smart and grownup, and Ronnie’s eleven so luckily he hasn’t been ‘bitten by the bug’ as my dad says, whatever that means. But as I was saying, it’s hard to make them feel pleased, so I was glad when I did.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that Ronnie has started insisting that his name is Ron; not Ronald, not Ronnie, not Ron-ron. Ron. Whatever is all I can say. I always forget to call him Ron, and then he gets all red in the face and explains why he doesn’t go by ‘childish nicknames’ anymore. Stuff him! Ron is about as boring as name can get anyhow, so why’d he want to be a boring-named person?
Another thing I forgot to mention; my name is Larky. I know, totally sweet! I used to hate my name, but now it’s really cool and pretty-sounding when people say it, so it makes me feel prettier. My full name is Larkspur, which I have no idea how my parents came up with, but nobody ever calls me that. Ever.
Back to my birthday: Susie, my best friend, gave me a rubber stamping kit, similar to hers, and we’re planning on making cards and scrapbooks this summer with them. She also made me a friendship bracelet, which I put on this morning and haven’t taken off. I gave her one in return, and we vowed never to take them off. Mine’s mint green and baby blue and hers is yellow and orange.
The best present of all, though, was a scooter mom and dad gave me. It’s pale purple with silver handles and wheels. The handles have spongy rubber grips that feel good on your hand, kind of like a massage, and the main part where you put your feet has a design in twirls and flowers. It feels like sandpaper, but it’s to keep your feet from sliding. Friction, Ted said wisely, the know-it-all. I’d wanted one of those scooters for ages, ever since I saw them in the hardware store a long time ago.
Mom gave me some pink lip gloss and purple and red nail polish. She said she thought I’d want a little something…extra. I knew it was just to make me feel more girly, and not so ugly and boyish. She was always doing things like that, buying me little beauty supply stuff to make me happier. I liked the stuff, don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed frills and lace, sparkles and glitter, but I always felt sad when I dressed up and looked in the mirror only to find I still looked…ugly.
Oh well. I’m destined to be an ugly freak I suppose. My eyes are a light greenish brown that look like puke, too small in my chubby face. They are like tiny dots in a ham. My nose is long and strangely pointed to my otherwise rounded features. My cheeks are pale and pasty and my forehead is much too small for my wide face, so it causes my face to look wider than it actually is.
My mouth is probably my least offending feature, my lips plump and rosy red, pink actually, but against my white complexion they appear red.
My hair is a strange color, probably closest to umber, but no one can say. At different times is appears auburn, a nice rich reddish brown, then at other times it appears dark brown, and at other times still, it is a cream color, like blonde, yet with more browns and reds mixed in.
I can’t say if my strange, rather bewildering hair is a plus or minus on my ‘good-looking scale’ so I won’t mark it, cause I really am unsure about it! People say I’m pretty, but I know they are just trying to make me feel better. Others say they would put me at average, which is also to make me feel better. It’s pretty obvious that I’m way below average.
I usually try to make myself ignore my appearance, and usually I’m successful; I don’t think about the way I look, I don’t fret or worry, because it doesn’t help and makes me feel worse. Kids will be mean and tease or make fun whatever I think or do, so if I just don’t think about myself, appearance or otherwise, I can much more easily ignore the cruel remarks. Sometimes it just wears down on me, especially when mom buys me something pretty and girly – it reminds me why she’s doing it.
If asked outright, mom would deny that she does it because I’m so fearful to the eyes. She’d say I was beautiful and beautiful girls deserve fun, girly things. And besides, she’d ad, I always liked them, and it was fun for me and her to dress up and make ourselves fancy. To be honest, even I could guess that she didn’t realize her attempts to soothe my feelings only worsened them. She’d never even think about her kindnesses as harmful. Only I knew, and only I would know…for I could never tell her and make her feel sad. I knew how much hurt-feelings pained, especially when you had done nothing to deserve them.
Spoiler
I wrote this a few months ago, and as I was going through my works on my files it came up. I quite like it, and I have a 2nd chapter written, but I don't know if it's worth continuing or not...? Whacha think? Any tips would be fabulous!
