I wrote this story in when I was 30. It's only semi-autobiographical. For instance, I definitely remember the guy walking around the grocery store with a chicken and his cane in the cart, but I don't remember ever gathering a crowd in the tomatoes aisle. I remember thinking at the time, "Wow if it gets this dark when I turn 30 I've got a long road ahead." Indeed.
I was also listening to lots of
Clem Snide around that time.
c
The Curse of Great Beauty
My beauty isn’t what it
once was.
When I was younger, I would
stop traffic. Men, and sometimes women, would stare at me as they drove by,
sometimes remembering to wave, but other times just gaze, transfixed, under my
spell.
When it first began
happening, I didn’t know what to make of it. I had been an adorable baby, but
sometime during my pre-pubescence, I had begun looking mousy and nondescript,
as one might say. In high school, I had typical adolescent self-esteem problems,
and didn’t notice my own blossoming.
When people began staring
like that, I attributed it to possible fashion faux pas, always checking myself to see if I had toilet paper stuck
to my shoe, or mismatched shoes, or a giant stain on my shirt front.
I gradually came to realize
that there was nothing wrong with me. The realization was exhilarating. I came
to look forward to tossing my hair on a breezy day, and could feel the eyes
catching the sun as it shone of my shiny tresses. I would dress up to go the
grocery, knowing that I could stand in the aisle deciding which type of canned
tomatoes to purchase and by the time I left, several people would have stopped
to mull over the same decision, casting sideways glances at me while there.
I marveled at the freedom
this sort of admiration brought. I never had to remember anyone’s birthday. I
never had to worry about an admirer’s faithfulness. I never had to worry that a
loved one would see an ugly side of me and turn away in disgust. It was
fantastic. This is all I need out of life,
I thought, smiling and winking as I passed a group of young men standing on the
corner, their female friends scowling subtly, so as not to betray their
jealousy.
I never felt lonely.
Then, at some point, I
noticed the number of admirers began to dwindle. Just as I was realizing my
power, and strength, and beauty—just as I realized I should not take any of it
for granted—I realized that I was no longer the center of that attention. I
compensated, wearing more revealing shirts at first, then darker eye make-up,
then making more eye contact.
One day, as I was getting
ready, I had what recovering addicts call a “moment of clarity.” I saw myself.
I looked at my face, halfway through the disguising process, and felt like Baby
Jane. I looked at my outfit and felt like Jezebel. I thought of all the young
women I was competing with and realized that I no longer had what they had—the
thing that made them all so gorgeous and had once graced my countenance—peace.
Joy in living the moment. Happiness to share in the beauty of the whole world.
Just enough self-doubt to be delighted in the affirmation of a beauty just
discovered.
All of that was gone now,
and no amount of make-up or garish clothing could reproduce it. I had never
been so lonely in my life.
I put down my make-up, and
took off my disguise. I went to the store and stood in the canned tomatoes
aisle, trying to decide between seasoned and unseasoned, organic and
conventional, diced and chopped, and while I did, people came through, picking
up their cans and moving on. I smiled to myself. I am the invisible woman, I thought. I went to the produce section.
People passed me with their carts, pushing their babies, or talking with their
partners, or on their phones, hardly noticing I was there. I decided on fresh
organic grape tomatoes, smiling again to myself as I imagined the pop of
sweetness in my mouth, feeling in my memory the freshly turned dirt of my grandfather’s
farm as I squished it between my toes.
I realized—not too late, as
these realizations are never too late, but always just on time—that I had been
blind all along to my true beauty.
I’m not as beautiful as I
once was, but I finally have access to the beauty that really matters. The
beauty of my heart, the beauty of my memory, the beauty of my love, the beauty
of my family, the beauty of my spirit, the beauty of my soul. And I can finally
see that beauty in others.
Now, beauty stops me in my tracks,
and I realize that it is everywhere. There is the beauty of a little girl
chasing a dog in the front yard, laughing hysterically as the dog plays and
loves the only way he knows. I know they are both living life to the fullest.
There is the beauty of an elderly man, pushing a shopping cart through the
grocery holding nothing but a whole cooked chicken and his cane. I know I can
never know the strength and pain he has endured, and only hope that I have the
grace and resolve to make it as far. There is the beauty of a middle-aged
couple walking through the bookstore together, holding hands, and the beauty of
a man picking out a movie at the video store, alone like me.
Of course, there is always
the beauty of a young woman walking with her hair blowing in the wind, as well,
although it is tinged with sadness for me, and a hope that she will realize
sooner than I did where beauty really resides.
Charity Crabtree
Sunday, 24 February 2008
