Imperfection

(07/00)

Their perfect relationship was destroyed. It really only had been perfect because they had both ignored how entirely different they were. I heard the news through the usual grapevine. News passes quickly over phone lines busy with talk of `he-was-where?!' and `she-did-what?!'.

She was beautiful, with blue eyes deep as the ocean and fox coloured hair hanging over her slender shoulders. She had innate fashion sense, and a look so intense that everyone noticed her. She didn't know how amazing she was. Until a few months ago, no one had even noticed her as anything better than bad. She met one person who saw her good points; he pointed them out to her blind world, and soon people's views on her were changing. Now everyone thought she was beautiful, everyone loved her. And she was, and she deserved it. She'd spent her whole life being tormented by misunderstanding, cruel kids, looking for connections with people, and striving to make and keep a few close friends. One day the floodgates just seemed to open up and everyone she met wanted to be close to her. She didn't understand it, and doubted she ever would. A bit later, the same thing happened with lovers.

He was one of these. She danced with him one night, and from that point on he was determined to make her his. He kissed her, she kissed him back, and they decided they were `together' as of that dance. He thought he loved her; he had gone through all the motions of one in love. She was one of those undiscovered beauties, not tainted by fame and fortune, and he was going to discover it and hold it. He would make her the perfect girl every man wants. She, however, had other ideas about him and his love. Her heart was with another and, worse to his stone structured mind, a girl. This other girl had captivated her with poetic visions and a loving touch, making her feel real and alive. She was lonely without her love, who had not been able to join her, and she took her loneliness out on him accidentally. She showed interest in him and he took it as a desire to break away from her imperfections. Unfortunately for him, it was not. Her spirit was free and unwilling to yield to his stony mold of perfection. For her, their brief interlude was the glancing touch beauty leaves on many. Only a few get more. What they had lasted only a few days, a summer fling, just a few kisses and a handful of dreams. For her it was nothing. There were no emotions wasted, no dreams spent. She was simply amused for a few days, a distraction.

It was not so with him. For the week they were together, he entirely committed himself to her, or at least to the image of her he preferred to see. In his house, his father had been a god. His mother obeyed the man's every whim. This is what he wanted as well, and this is what he planned to make her, a little angel dedicated to his service. Who wouldn't want this jewel of a girl to worship them? Every time he touched her, he tried to show her how wonderful a man's love could be. Every time her kissed her, he tried to show her how great a man's dominance feels. He wanted her just right, wanted to shine the rough jewel and make it his masterpiece, and he could do it. He knew it.

At first, his plan seemed to be working. After a day or so, she spoke less of the girl she loved and spoke more warmly to him. She was usually by his side and touching him, seemingly devoted. She was just responding to the atmosphere of flirtation that drew many away from monogamy that first night. She became used to being with him, it was just one of the many facets of life away from home now. He did not see the photograph of her love in her wallet, he did not know of the matching stone necklaces or the bright blue teddy bear sitting on her bed. He believed her to be crawling into the palm of his manipulative hand.

Over the days this disillusionment grew and grew as she forgot more and more about her love and sunk herself into him and into her work so she could forget the pain of being out of contact with the one she truly cared for. All this time, he believed her more and more his; perhaps he was succeeding, perhaps she was changing, perhaps it was just being so far from all the things that usually tied her down that made her act more freely. No one was ever the same away from home. Less than a week later, although it seemed an eternity to him, she was gone from him on the strength of a phone call. Her love had called and she realized how foolish she was being. She heard again the voice that believed her truly beautiful and thought her truly wonderful just the way she was. That voice softly told her she was an angel on earth, that any imperfections just made her real. That was all she needed to jump out of his hand and far from his manipulation. She ended it the next morning. He didn't believe it when she first told him. The words echoed in his mind, "I really love her. I'm sorry." His perfect little worshipper extinguished the candles in his chapel and wandered far from his grasp.

I still have no real clear picture of him, but I knew her well, or at least I'd like to think I did. I was one of the few lucky ones to have a turn to be close to this angel, the one who saved her from his manipulation with a few verses of pretty words. In the long run, she used me too, of course, as inspiration, as a lesson, as experience, as something to do. She didn't know she was doing it. If she had, her conscience would've torn her apart. That's one of those tragic faults of beauty. When everyone wants to be with you, it's really easy to just take a sampling of whichever you choose and then move on to the next like a box of filled chocolates, enjoying each as it melts in your mouth but still wanting to try them all. Most of us have recalized this, except maybe the beautiful about themselves, but they're just so beautiful that we flock around anyway like flies to a flame.