LOSS

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing a little makeover can’t change!” The three of you are standing underneath the floating staircase connecting the auditorium to the gym. The noises from recess spill through the slats with the early sun falling from the window above. The warmth of the light brings out some of the honey in her ash ponytail as she shakes her head in anger. She’s the only one sitting on the wooden gym bench, her fingers firmly grasping her knees, head bent, as she listens. You and the other girl lean forward, bent into her personal space by your eager determination to help. “You could get some new clothes and change your glasses?” Tears roll down her cheeks and seep into her baggy grey joggers.

The more you talk, the more she sits hunched before you, shoulder blades visibly shaking through the oversized t-shirt hanging from her slight frame. The two of you go on: get contact lenses, get a new haircut, have you thought about using some makeup? You use the lines on the blue laminate to show her how to add a feminine keep-your-knees-together quality to her usual, bow-legged amble. When the school bell rings the three of you head down the hallway to gym class in your t-shirts with straps no less than three fingers wide ( and no bra straps showing!) and trousers that have to reach the knee per school instruction.

Three years later she comes to prom in a dress and it’s as if everyone can finally exhale the breath they didn’t know they were holding in around her. It’s the ultimate Princess Diaries makeover. There she is: the confidence of her flat-soled walk swapped for the delicately charming search for solid footing in block heels. Where her thoughtful gaze used to meet yours through full-rimmed, tortoiseshell glasses, she now looks to the floor with contact lenses and blushing cheeks. As she is enfolded in admiration, her future suddenly shines as bright as the blue silk of her dress. That night, the entire class celebrates her transformation to something that’s easier to make sense of, and as she glows under the multi-coloured lasers, she’s never been celebrated less for who she actually is.

What she wanted to know from you under the staircase was why nobody could like and love her for who she was and what she should do about it. I wish your answer had been a different one, but you don’t really know any better. You still think that the only way to be loved is to lose yourself for it.