Beauty

Bonnie.

A name that means, pretty, charming, beautiful.

My name.

A name that depicted my sister, my mother and every other female in my family but not me.

I had once thought myself beautiful.

That was until the accident.

The accident that had left me severely scared down the left side of my body. An accident that had caused my once positive self to see nothing but negativity when I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My blonde hair that was once full, shiny and perfect is now patchy, thin and wispy. My once flawless complexion in now decorated with a pale spiderweb of scars predominately on the left side of my face. My left arm covered constantly with bandages to hide the scared flesh that had been seared in the flames. and my left leg a prosthetic due to doctors being unable to save it.

Ever since that night when a truck ran into my car causing it to roll and self-ignite I have never been able to look at myself the same again. All I see is a girl that could haunt the dreams of children. The beauty I had been gifted was gone.

Every time I walk into a room it falls into silence, an uncomfortable atmosphere blanketing the room as everyone looks at me, pity dancing in their eyes.

I don’t want their pity.

I want to be treated like a normal person.

I want people to talk to me, not about me.

I want people to embrace me in a welcoming hug, not stand awkwardly and wave ‘hi’.

I want to feel normal again, not like a delicate doll that should be kept out of peoples touch. Like the slightest touch could break me again.

My mother tries her hardest to make me feel beautiful again, she takes me to salons to get my hair fixed but there is not much the women can do. They tried extensions but it never works out and when they offer a wig I stammer. However before I can answer them my mother is on her feet and whisking me out of the building, I shoot the women an apologetic smile but their face says it all.

They feel sorry for me.

My father reassures me that I am still beautiful in his eyes, even after what happened I will be always beautiful. The exterior of a person of my will fade but what is inside is what counts, and, for a while that lifts the constant self-hate, until I go out and hear girls laugh or whisper behind their hands and that niggling feeling and voice is back taunting me.

It’s snide voice tells me that how will I find a man when I look like this, what sane man would see passed my ugly exterior to the kind personality and heart of gold that beats underneath everything. It makes me believe that external beauty is what captures a man’s attention where in my right mind I know that isn’t true but the voice knocks that away and tortures me further.

As I look at my reflection every morning in the mirror I can’t help but reach up and touch my scars, images from the accident flashing across my face. The sudden brightness of headlights of a driver that forgot to stop at the intersection. The harsh squealing of tires before a hard hit causing my body to jolt forward and hit the steering wheel so hard that the air was pushed out of my lungs and whiplash caused my neck to ache.

I remember the feeling of rolling, constantly rolling, feeling like it was never going to end until I was sucked into a darkness that numbed everything around me, the pain, the breathlessness and the feeling of rolling. The way I was coerced out of the darkness was by a male voice. A calm male voice, I remember his eyes.

Dark, endless, yet warm and welcoming.

He assured me over and over that I would be alright that I will be out of there soon. He kept telling me to keep my eyes, to keep my eyes on his and concentrate on his voice. He was like an angel. A dark haired, dark eyed angel. At the time I wasn’t aware that my car had been alight and that I was covered in burns. All I was aware of was the male who was staring at me trying to keep me conscious.

I don’t remember being cut out of the car or the fact they had to be extremely careful due to my leg being in caught in a vice like grip from the damage done to the vehicle. I only vaguely remember being rushed into the ambulance before everything went black again.

Waking up in a clean room, the smell of disinfectant burning my nostrils, turning my head wincing at the pain and seeing my mother asleep her head on my mattress while the rest of her body was in a chair. Her stirring from her sleep to see me looking at her and sobs falling from her lips as she clasped my hand and pressed kisses to it thanking the Lord for answering her prayers.

The rest of the time spent in the hospital is blur. I remember fragments.

I remember my rehabilitation. The frustration of learning to walk again with a prosthetic leg, the tantrums, the tears and the pain. I remember that the same angel that had been with me the entire time of the accident was the one who was helping me and he knew nothing but kindness and patience. He knew when to take a break and he never forced me to move when I didn’t have the strength to. He even took me out in the wheel chair and sat with me occasionally talking to me and I to him.

That has stopped since leaving the hospital. I only ever see him briefly when I go in for check ups.

Daniel.

That was his name.

I miss him. I miss his kindness, I miss the fact that he treated me like a normal human and looked at me without sympathy or pity,

Now that is all I get.

Me.

Bonnie.

Bonnie the Beautiful.

Yeah right.