On the inside we are all just blood and guts

inspired by barelygirl's story http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/barleygirl/1801611/

Life is an intricately woven tapestry. One dot leads to another. In a way, I have a girl named "Mary" to thank for some of my most important life lessons. Let me explain.

I moved to a small Northern Ontario town when I was twelve. It was a miserable place for a budding teenager. The kids there were as cruel as cruel could be, and I was a target of the nastiest of bullies, for no other reason than I didn't belong.

I came to befriend another outcast. Her name was Mary. I think I saw her one of the first days I moved to that godforsaken hellhole. It's hard to forget the first time you see a person who has an outer appearance like Mary's. She was horribly disfigured. Mary had been burned in an accident when she was a child -- four or five years old -- I don't know what the actual stats were, but basically as badly as a person can be burned and still live. From the outside, it seemed a miracle she could even walk around. She had a limp, missing and/ or deformed appendages, and a very scarred face. To a 12 year old girl who had never seen such a person, I was shocked. My mother had to physically shut my mouth to keep me from saying something rude when we saw her in the corner store that first time. I spent a lot of time wondering what happened to that poor girl -- you really couldn't tell if she was old or young by her appearance. I found out when I changed schools she was my age.

Few people accepted Mary. They called her despicable names, like "burnt offerings" and "crispy critter". Mary and I got to know each other because nobody liked me either. I am not saying it was easy to look at Mary. It was also not easy not to ask inappropriate questions. But once you got to know her, her scars were inconsequential. She had a true inner light that could not be extinguished. She was funny, and smart as hell. If anyone had a reason to lie down and give up, it would be Mary. She never did.

One thing being around Mary taught me was that families can be a thousand times meaner than any stranger when it comes to living with the burden with which Mary had to live. I guess they are all happier now that Mary is dead, I really don't know. At the time, it sure seemed they wished she hadn't lived.

Mary's mother was a particularly harsh woman. She seemed perpetually angry, a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. The first day I came to Mary's house, her mother showed me pre-accident photos of how 'beautiful her baby was'. This was not hushed, in another room, but right in front of her daughter, whose eyes filled with tears as I stood in her living room, gobsmacked. My mother always taught me to respect my elders. It took everything in me to not lash out at that woman. But I wanted to hang out with Mary, so I kept my mouth shut. 

Mary went through many painful surgeries as she was growing just to keep up with her skin that would not stretch with her growth. Her mother was literally obsessed with Mary getting to look more normal, and seemed unaffected by her daughter's mental and physical pain. While you're fixing up that mangled leg doc, can you just tweak her face? is what I imagined her telling the plastic surgeon.

In yet another mind blowing incident, Mary was dressed as a bridesmaid for her sister's wedding. Her beautiful long dark hair was braided, and she was wearing a lovely dress that showed off her petite figure. I complimented her, and Mary positively beamed. Two minutes later, the fun was over as mom petted her hair in supposed affection. "Oh my baby, how beautiful you would have been," she cooed. I had to excuse myself so Mary didn't see my rage. I don't remember, but I am pretty sure I cried. Few people have made me as angry as that woman did that day.

Through all of her trials, Mary tried to live a normal life. She went to school, got good grades, and came to dances and social activities. By that time I had my own little survival niche of not-so-popular kids, and we stuck together. I remember one dance, only one boy would dance with Mary. That boy became my first husband. That marriage did not work out due to his love of the drink. But his soul was a beautiful one, and I will treasure the memory of how special that simple act of kindness made Mary feel.

Mary was so tired near the end of high school. Tired of being ridiculed, tired of her miserable family. But she never gave up living. Not once. She didn't turn to a gun or a bottle of pills. She hoped against hope, that as the doctors told her, now that she had finished growing, they could reconstruct her face. The last time I saw Mary, she was looking remarkably better in a physical sense. She was excited to be working on a new face that the world would hopefully not point at and turn away in disgust.

Mary died on the plastic surgeon's table. Her light forever gone from this world, because most people, including her family, could not look at her without grimacing. It was a closed casket ceremony. I did not attend, as funerals are intended to support the loved ones of the person who passed. From what I understand, there was one lone photo on display -- the very one I saw in Mary's living room the first time I went to her house.

So now, when I look in the mirror, and look at a wrinkle, or lament my herniated, imperfect belly from two c-sections, I think of Mary, and forget all about asking the doctor about "improving" my looks.

Author's Note

This was a hard one to write. Please help with edits if you see them. I am a little emotional at the moment.

Reviews

[Neville]

Interesting and so very true, right down to the last drop..

[Lyn Anderson]

Hey, thank you for the read and review on this

[Neville]

pleasure and all mine

[V]

Your story provides an important message. Makes one really feel bad about their own dissatisfaction and the so-called flaws. I enjoyed reading even though I felt sad and angry most of the time.

[Lyn Anderson]

Thank you, yes, I used Mary's story with my own kids, who find themselves wondering about tiny imperfections in their little faces and bodies -- too much emphasis we put on the outside, for sure, especially when it comes to the very superficial.

[V]

That's true. You're welcome.

[Jacob Clifford]

This is such a beautiful story, and Mary was such a beautiful person. It takes so much strength to not give up in those conditions. Reading about her mother made me furious. She was so blinded by "what could have been" to see the wonderful daughter she had. And the other kids ... It's so terrible what some kids do to one another.

You ended this story on a wonderful note. It's far too easy to take for granted what we have. Many of us are lucky beyond comprehension, yet we find minuscule problems in our lives just so we can complain.

[Lyn Anderson]

Thank you very much. Yes, Mary's mother was to me a truly selfish woman. I often wonder if Mary would be alive if her mother had dissuaded her from rushing her cosmetic procedures. Her poor heart and her worn out body just gave up.

[M.E.Lyle]

This story reminded me of an aunt I had. She was inflicted with infantile polio and grew up grossly disfigured. She looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I know this is a cruel comparison, but I can't think of any other way to describe her. Her mother died while she was still very young, so she was raised by a wickedly, cruel grandmother. She would be beaten for no reason. Finally the grandmother shipped her off to live with some family in Colorado where she was treated well.
She ended up marrying a man who spent most of his time in prison, but she bore him two beautiful daughters.
When we looked at her we saw our aunt, a loving and wonderful person, but around us we could hear the whispers and feel the glare of eyes starring.
Life is cruel to those who are not like the rest of us.
My aunt died of complications due to her condition. She was a wonderful person.
Thank you for this write. Unfortunately I'm afraid it won't change the way things are, but maybe it will awaken an awareness of how cruel man can be toward man.

[Lyn Anderson]

Thank you for sharing. Your aunt sounds like a beautiful person. I appreciate your stopping by and sharing your own experience. Little by little, if some people are more kind, perhaps, we can hope, at least some people will be different.

[barleygirl]

Very powerful & honest & gutwrenching! I love this candid style of writing, which is still pretty darn well-written, despite being a bit of a rant for you! You've included just enuf details & feelings so that the story flows logically while gripping the reader's heart from start to finish. We should all be lucky enuf to have such an experience in life, to teach us what's really important. I feel honored that my story prompted this . . . which is so much more powerful, for being a true story, & for you allowing us to see your conflicted feelings thru-out. Thanks for sharing.

BTW: I know what you mean about being shaken up after writing this. I surprised myself by how emotional I was after writing my "Birthday Reflections" (I never feel much of anything about my family growing up stuff these days, so I didn't even know there was still that much emotion deep down in there after all these years). I think it's important to reach down in there & pull up that junk & write it, every so often.

[Lyn Anderson]

I have shared Mary's story with my kids, to illustrate how important it is not to superficially judge others. But I never thought of writing it down until I read your story. Thank you for inspiring, reading, and reviewing.

[Papaya]

This got me. I have a lump in my throat the size of a baseball.

[Lyn Anderson]

Thank you for reading. It is a tough one. I can only believe that girl is somewhere better, because to believe otherwise is too depressing.

[Papaya]

I will never understand how one person can be so mean to another person. I'm sure she is somewhere better.

[Lyn Anderson]

I doubt her family learned their lesson, because they would have learned from the accident in the first place if they were so capable.

[Papaya]

You have a beautiful heart.

[Lyn Anderson]

thank you, that means a lot to me. I am so much luckier than many, to have loving parents and one set of wonderful grandparents who guided me along the way. We were the family who invited the homeless guy to dinner -- it taught me a lot, to live that way.