To Be Beautiful

In utter anticipation, multiple pairs of eyes shifted across the room.

Obviously the story was a well-cherished tradition in our family, one that had began with Kim and continued on to Tatum and I.

Everyone knew it - but the only question remaining was, who would tell it?

"Well. . .is anyone gonna tell me?" Jack questioned cautiously after a moment of relative silence.

His smooth, masculine voice easily pierced through the minimal sounds of forks scraping against glazed ceramics.

Before Tatum could leap at the chance to impress her boyfriend, her own mother beat her to it.

"Jack, I'd be glad to pass the tale on to you ~" She cooed, her words possessing a good-natured warmth.

Attentively, the gaze of everyone within the room landed on her.

"This is a story that my mother would often recite to the girls before bed. . ." Aunt Lauren trailed off, a wistful look in her eyes.

"And funnily enough, it all began with a pair of scissors." My father chimed in, laughing at the familiar tale before Aunt Lauren had ever really had the chance to begin.

Jackson's mouth was agape in wonder, but before he could question anything, Aunt Lauren pressed on.

"It's probably more accurate to state, that it all began with a boy - with scissors for hands." She corrected with a knowing smirk.

At the outlandish statement, Jackson furrowed his brow.

"A boy with scissors for hands? That's unreal!" He repeated in humorous disbelief.

In response to this, my family let out rounds of amused chuckles.

"It's a true story, actually. And it takes place in that castle on that very hill." My Aunt insisted, looking Jackson dead in the eyes to prove to him that it was not fantasy of which she was speaking.

Without even bothering to tear her gaze away from his incredulous face, she pointed a delicate finger out the kitchen window in the direction of the Gothic estate, the only one to overlook the tiny Suburban area.

Although he probably didn't intend for it to come out as such, Jackson merely scoffed.

"That place is just haunted, Mrs. Brown." He concluded curtly.

At his disbelief I couldn't help but gently shake my head.

"Jackson, I promise it's not ghosts that dwell within those walls. . ."

I mumbled lightly.

And furthermore, if he hadn't lived in town long enough to hear the story of Edward Scissorhands, certainly he hadn't resided here long enough to hear about supposed ghosts.

Ignoring his stubborn replies, my Aunt Lauren wasted absolutely no time in divulging in the story I'd come to know and love.

"An inventor lived in that mansion, and he invented many things. . .but not a one of those things could compare to the creation of his very own artificial man. Well, the man was more like a young boy. His insides were in tact, and unlike Pinocchio, he had a heart, brain, and lungs. . .heck, he had everything. Or almost everything - if you didn't count his lack of hands. The young, artificial boy probably would have been finished, if not for the fact that the inventor was very old. Whilst he wanted to give the boy real hands, he died before he ever got the chance. Thus, the boy was left in that mansion, incomplete and all alone. . ." Aunt Lauren trailed off fondly.

At the pause in her tale, Jackson was mildly curious.

"And did this inorganic guy have a name?" He inquired suddenly.

The child-like wonder that lingered behind his words had me reminiscing over the days in which Great Aunt Kim was still alive to tuck us in and repeat the story she was so known for to us herself.

It seemed like things were simpler back then, when Tatum and I were an us and not a "them."

Smiling softly, Aunt Lauren paused to take a sip of milk.

"Everyone has a name, Jackson. Edward Scissorhands was no exception. . ."

Although I didn't bother to mention it - I couldn't help but feel slightly bothered with how she referred to my childhood hero in the past tense. . .