Perfect

Life is never how it seems and love is never worthless

It’s 1943 and her name is Mary and she is 17

The July sun beams down upon the sparkling waves that lap upon the Southern Georgia Beaches

Her cork soled “Wedgies” click hollowly as she glides across the boardwalk towards the ice-cream parlor

The skirt on her knee-length dress sways as it elegantly flares away from her petite waist and hips

Boys whistle as Mary passes, and a rosy blush forms beneath the surface of her perfect ivory skin

As she rounds the corner toward s the parlor, she sees the boy who she had waited to see leaned against the wooden railing of the wooden walk and her eyes, as blue as the ocean beyond, light up

She calls to him with melodic voice and he turns to face her and he smiles because he missed her

But that’s ok.

Because as the southern sunlight hits her strawberry blonde hair it reflects golden

And she is beautiful. And she is perfect.

 

 

Only she isn’t

 

 

It is 2030 and her name is Blair and she is 17

And as the July sun beats down upon the seared eastern Oklahoma fields, she dreams that she is Mary

But with her curly brown hair that refuses to be tamed and her olive skin that is plagued with tan lines she couldn’t be farther from her imaginary self

Instead of a tiny frame clothed in flowing dresses, she covers her curves with button downs and jeans that suit her life surrounded by cattle and hay

She shies away from attention that she feels she doesn’t deserve and she never seems to fit in

And why can’t she be like everyone else and she’s sorry that she can’t be who they want her to be

But that’s ok.

Because when the southern sunlight smiles upon her as she rides her horses bareback across the rolling fields, she looks like an angel

And her hair flies behind her, free as her spirit feels, and when she laughs her green eyes sparkle like emeralds

And she is beautiful. And she is perfect.

 

 

Only she isn’t.

 

 

It is 2013 and her name is Kelsey and she is 17

And though the July sun reaches from heaven to the Houston streets below, she can’t feel it

As she lies on the cold table of the Women’s Clinic she cries and imagines what the little girl she would have called Blair would have been like

Would she have the slender nose like her grandmother, and the stunning blue eyes? Or would she have run, bronze and brunette, free as the southern winds like her mother?

But everyone said she was too young, and that her life would be over, and what was a teenage girl to do alone in this town-

But God I’m sorry and please forgive me, and why did I walk into this cold white building today?

And as she cries the nurse finishes the deed, but as the white coat walks away, carrying Kelsey’s heart wrapped in towels like unwanted waste, Kelsey calls to her

And with tears pouring unrestricted from her swollen face she raises herself up

Stop! Don’t take her! And I know you’re not supposed to see them, but God I’m sorry

The nurse tries to hide the bundle from the hysterical girl as she rushes to dispose of it, ignoring the tortured shrieks that a mistake had been made

But that’s ok.

Because as the southern sunlight pushes its way through the clinic windows, it falls softly on the unnaturally small face

And the soft brown hair glows like a halo around the fragile countenance with the ivory skin and slender nose

And she is beautiful. And she is perfect.