pretty

I am not a pretty girl . I'm not being self-hating, or anything...it's just a fact. I can't speak Chinese, I have cerebral palsy. I'm not pretty.

I don't even know why it's so important to me. I mean, I have this small selection of pretty great qualities working for me, when I decide to not be a bitch, and I can be quite the lovable little lady. My whole life, I've been the smart one. Jason was the logical one, and Matt was the talented one - he never practiced soccer or piano, but outshone Jason and I in each, respectively. The only thing I've ever seen Matt work for was his pilot's license...but that came pretty easy, too.

Lisa was the pretty one. My sister is, in a word, breathtaking. Everything about her is pretty. And maybe, maybe if you know me, I guess, and you love me enough to look past the mannish cut of my brow and the sharpness of my jaw and that weird hollow in my cheeks that makes me look like a starving bag lady, you can find a prettiness, a sort of charm. I will never, can never come close to my sister's beauty, though. Flawless black hair and a tiny waist, wide hips, perfect curves, almond-shaped black eyes and a bright, sweet smile....when I would stand next to her, I looked so short and dumpy, with this awful face that looked like someone had beat it with a brick. Everywhere we went, boys would stare and mothers would comment 'oh, she's so beautiful. she should be a model. you'll never have trouble finding a man for that one.'
And me? My mother would throw a few test scores around, and I would promptly be told to go read a dictionary instead of that pointless fiction book, because a brain like mine shouldn't be wasted. I could do partical physics in front of their very eyes; they would never be as stunned by my mind as they were by her beauty.

I have filled my sister's empty shoes in a million ways. I've taken up her chores and become the older-sister figure to the kids....I do what I can. But I'm not pretty. I can't take the beauty place, I can't be the stunner. Everyone in my family is so damn skinny and so damn pretty, and I feel like some sort of monster, with my stupid chunky thighs and my boobs and my stomach, and my stupid ugly man face. I've never looked like I belonged, but now that the space where the pretty one is gaping open, I feel even worse, because I can't fill it. I can do her chores and play that supporting, shut-up-and-listen role, but I can't make myself pretty. The more I try, the more aware I become that I'm not, and that my mother thinks Erin is prettier, that everyone is jumping down to the next person, skipping right over me because I am not a beautiful skinny perfect Gray. And even though I'm smart, and loving and successful, I am not pretty, and that makes me of less value to them, even if they won't say it. How dare I ugly up their family photos. How dare I fattify their portraits. How dare I be honest, and not pretend that my sister is the only thing that's wrong with this family.