“Good Morning, sir. I live here in the neighborhood and...”
“I didn’t ask where you live, I asked who you are!”
“I’m sorry! I just would like to ask if I can take some apples from...”
“Stupid girl. Don’t come to bother me anymore. Get out!”
That senior-citizen slammed the door on my face, thanks to Gustav's “smartness.” He didn’t dare to say anything after seeing that scene, just looked at me and swallowed dry. I didn’t speak to him until we got to school, I spent the rest of the way cursing under my breath.
With a frowning forehead, I kept going over that scene with a bitter taste in my mouth, I should have given that man with no manners a very good answer. Why do some people insist on treating me with such coldness? Once more I felt that lump in my throat.
I going to tell you, I hate looking like the “poor little girl” of the story, so don’t take what I’m going to tell you next as a complaint, it is just what usually happens to me.
When I stopped to think about my life, I could feel how empty it was, worthless. I thought myself as ugly, with no grace, always worried about what others thought of me.
I would spend days torturing myself about what I said or did, or even when I didn’t do something I should. I would spend nights awake reliving situations that would be insignificant for most people, but not for me. I have an agitated brain covered by a calm face. I thought too much, I felt easily irritated. I usually had a prompt reply to everybody who would bother me but would think things over a thousand times before deciding something. Sometimes I could feel my chest as empty which made me question what my mission in life was. I didn’t think I fit anywhere, not in one group. At home, my parents didn’t mistreat me, there were no bad spankings, but I didn’t feel they cherished me either, I missed a word of support. Dad was a cool guy most of the time, but he was always worried about other matters. He used to tell me that he didn’t have time for girly issues. My mom always clearly preferred my brother, anyone could notice it.
I was always begging for some attention. Auntie Eva is the only one who truly listens to me, she does worry about me.
I was never good enough for anything, it seemed that nothing I delivered was up to my high standards. If I had to write an essay for my Swedish class, I would spend hours making it perfect, but always thought it was lame. It wasn’t rare when I canceled going to the movies or a going out at the last hour because I always felt better staying alone, that way I could avoid scenes I would be sorry about later. Many times I lied, saying everything was okay, only so I didn’t have to tell them what was going on inside me. I didn’t think it would be easy to explain. Very often I swallowed the urge to cry. I never wanted pity from people, and in this case, loneliness was my best friend.
I know that sounds too drama queen, even over the top, for people who don’t feel the same. It’s okay, I don’t expect you to understand, not even to accept me, I know how to fake it well. I only would like to be happy, feeling that I’m loved without seeming like they are doing me a favor.
I was an unhappy reflection in the mirror. I wish I could be like the magazine models, but I would need to be born again and lose a few pounds, even if Gustav and Auntie Eva said the opposite. I didn’t get the looks and, like this, I was almost the never kissed one. My only real kiss was at a school party some time ago. It was a game, the one who lost had to kiss one of the boys. Of course, I managed to lose. My first kiss was horrible, and the boy was as ugly as being punished by your mother in front of your friends. Besides that, I could only try with my bedroom mirror, what a shame.
I was not even a little bit popular, not blond or perfect like the other girls at school. My hair was long and had a brownish color that didn’t do me well, I had some messy bangs parted right in the middle of my forehead, it didn’t matter how much I would try to fix it. I was gifted with freckles all over my nose and cheeks, I wasn’t even ginger to have that. Sometimes I put some eyeliner on, it brings up the only pretty thing in me, a pair of blue eyes I inherited from my grandfather. But in Sweden, blue eyes were a very ordinary thing, since ninety percent of the people get light eyes and golden hair. I didn’t get my mom’s charms or the beauty from my father who pretty much looks like a prince. Congrats to me!
This lack of beauty kept me out of any group. Me and Gustav, my fatty friend. Being the excluded ones made us big friends ever since I got to Schillerska School, which is very respected and large here. People say the new dean is an old man, big and gruff, I never met him. Lucky me.
Gustav never got the guts to tell me, but I know he would like to be more than friends, and this made me angry sometimes. Since we were close, I often made him pay for my frustrations, and he never had anything to do with it. That became a vicious cycle, when Gustav tried to show me some affection I would answer back with rudeness, he would get upset, me too, then I would end up apologizing and everything got back to normal. And then, he would go back to show me some affection and it all began again until the day it gave up. It was best for both of us. I felt terrible about it because I was used to seeing that scene at home but in a different role, I was begging for my mom’s attention and she despised me.
I think it began to happen when I was eight years old. I was playing in our backyard with some old cans when I stumbled and fell right on top of one, making a deep cut in my hand. I ran inside the house leaving a trail of blood drops on my way, she was sitting at the kitchen table. I was crying so I hugged her asking for help. She told me I was too big to be crying, told me to wash that cut and make a bandage. I was only eight. I didn’t need her to tell me what to do, I only needed her to hug me. Gustav didn’t deserve to be treated that way, but maybe I did.
I noticed in those last days that my patience was far to be seen, even I couldn’t stand myself. Auntie Eva said it was an age thing, that this bitterness would come to an end, I doubted it.
Overall, my days didn’t seem too different from the other teenagers. I woke up early, had breakfast with my parents (I always hated waking up early, but my father forced me). I would put on my school uniform, that I ironed myself, then my coat and would start thinking about life until I met Gustav on the way, just a few blocks from my house. He lived three blocks away from me, more to the school side.
In those few warm days, when our hats and scarves were left in the closet, it was even easier to see us in the crowd of students. We were the few heads with dark hair in an ocean of blond people with their tufts and bangs, all so aligned. Being different can sound nice, but not when you are sixteen and all you want is to look like everyone else. Some people can say it is nice, just as a consolation prize. This would always keep us away from what was happening with the popular students.
The school is boring at any place in the world, but Schillerska was worth it just because Karl Bergin was there. He was so handsome, like those porcelain beauties, blond with blue eyes, a sunny smile that made me think about marrying before I was even eighteen. He had my attention, and of all the other girls too. But his looks were as great as the amount he despised me. He didn’t even know I existed. He was always with his two friends, Bjorn Eriksson and Bengt Peter, and he only had eyes for his girlfriend, Emma Blix. Some girls are born to shine. That was Emma. She had blue eyes as I do, but hers shone better. Also, the blond doll-like hair, a perfect nose, everything in the right place and with a super tan that I have no idea how she got living here. Above all, she was also very popular. To my consolation, Emma was like a rotten human being, treated other students with disdain, and made fun of school employees. But that doesn’t matter since people of our age just judge how you look. All the boys wanted to date her anyway. All the boys but Gustav, he was faithful to me. I think we were probably tied in a type of karma, to like those who don’t like us. In his case, he liked me, and I didn’t like him (not as a boyfriend). I liked Karl, and, well, Karl didn’t like me. I had to admit, sometimes Gustav paid the price for nurturing that platonic love. Baring my love frustrations wasn’t easy, even knowing he didn’t deserve it, I felt anger for it being him who liked me and not Karl. Maybe I didn’t like myself, it could be. Gustav was like another consolation prize. I don’t want it, thanks.