Perfect Imperfections

Quillon Kaley was supposed to be a bright, caring, open-hearted person. And she was, maybe just a different version. Because she had a secret. And this secret would bring her down, make her hide away alone in her apartment with nothing but a pen and a stack of paper.

From age 14, Quillon had loved writing. Before that, her dyslexia had slowed her down in her class. She was known as the mostly silent, introverted, terrible handwriting girl. Even Quillon's best friend, Chloe, had deserted her like a bumblebee finally leaving a dying flower.

That was when she decided to teach herself to write. She would spend hours upon hours in her small bedroom writing, staying up all night, or passing time on the weekends. She figured that if she wanted to fit in, she could hide her dyslexia and become the best writer she could ever be. 

When she went to high school, she decided that the rest of her life would be dedicated to writing, and this led her to be drawn to a blank piece of paper rather than boys or looking pretty. When her parents asked what she was doing so much, she told them she was doing homework. She didn't want them to know she was writing because her parents weren’t supportive and wanted her to be a lawyer, just like both of them. She would hide the massive chunks of paper filled with stories of animals and castles and wizards and what it was like to be her. 

The last one stuck. She loved writing about her dyslexia and other disabilities. She felt that when she did, she was sharing a piece of her soul, one that couldn’t be expressed by talking or how she dressed or any other way because she loved to write and only write. 

The day she moved out of her parent’s house, Quillon found the tale of Cinderella in a box of old, dusty objects from when she was a kid. She had only ever heard her parents read it out loud because she wasn’t able to.  It had a beautiful baby blue cover depicting a shimmering carriage and a girl with blond hair pulled into a bun on top of her head, Cinderella, Quillon guessed.  She was holding her dress up and a glass slipper was peeking out from underneath.  But the thing that bothered Quillon the most was how perfect she looked. Cinderella was skinny, blond, fair, and DEFINITELY did not have a disability. 

An idea suddenly came together in Quillon’s mind. What if she were to recreate the story of Cinderella, but with the main character dyslexic? She rushed to finish packing, making sure to bring Cinderella with her, and jumped into her minivan that used to be her dad’s. 

When she got to her apartment that night, the first thing she did before taking her shoes, coat, or hat off was read the fairy tale book she had shoved in the trunk of her car. It now had scratches on the cover from bumping against things. Quillon liked it. Imperfection! What a beautiful word. 

Hour upon hour Quillon spent writing that night, and the next morning, she carried a fairy-tale-size stack of paper to the bookstore down her street. As she passed under the forest-green doorway, she stuffed the papers under her shirt. Quillon walked into the kid’s section with all of the fairytales, and pulled them out, and set them on the shelf, making sure not to be seen. Then, she bought Sleeping Beauty, walked out, and rewrote it with the classic princess as an autistic character. 

When she went to put her fairy tale on the shelf the next morning, Quillon noticed with shock that all of the copies made yesterday had disappeared. All of the normal fairy tales were still perfectly where they were yesterday. She pulled out the new copies and set them on the shelf, as she had the day before. 

This became her daily routine. Walk to the bookstore the minute it opens, avoid eye contact with the librarian, travel over to the kid’s fairy tales, set the new one on the shelf, and finally, buy the next fairy tale. Soon, she had done all of the tales they had in the store, so she had to look at ebooks. By the end of two weeks, she had done more fairy tales than she could have ever imagined. 

But one day when she slyly walked into the bookstore and over to the section she went to every day, she jumped with surprise when she saw what was there. Her fairy tale… only printed like a real book! She stood with a hand covering her mouth for what felt like a long time before kneeling down to touch it. It was glossy on the outside and the pages were thick and durable. The cover was just like the real one, only below it said: “rewritten by anonymous.” Quillon was so caught up in amazement that she didn't hear wheels turning behind her. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” a voice said, making Quillon jump.

“W-What? N-n-no I don't have t-to do w-with anything,” She said turning around. But when she did turn to face the librarian, she was stunned at what she saw. It was Chloe, her best friend from elementary who had deserted her to join the popular group. But now, she was in a wheelchair.

“Chloe?” Quillon whispered. 

“Hi, Quillon,” She responded with a smile. 

Quillon eyed her wheelchair. “But- you didn't have a wheelchair in elementary school.” She gestured to her wheelchair.

“When I was 25, I developed arthritis in my knees and stopped being able to walk,” Chloe stated. “It spiraled down and down until I was forced to get a wheelchair. But you're the one writing the fairy tales, aren’t you?”

“You guessed,” Quillon said with a sigh. For the last month or so, she hadn't had a conversation with anyone, and she hadn’t slept a full night. It was nice to talk to someone even if it meant exposing her secret. 

“Well, I think you should reveal yourself. The stories are so inspiring, and kids love them. Look how fast they are gone every day. It’s why I printed them as a real book.” 

This conversation went on until something came out that scared the guts out of Quillon. 

“You should get your stories out to the world. Put your name on them,” Chloe suggested. 

“No, no, no. I can’t do that. I’m not ready.” 

“Your stories are so amazing, Quillon! People love them! I think if you published your fairy tales, they would be so popular.”

“No. I have to go, I won’t be back tomorrow. Nice seeing you,” Quillon said with a huff, and walked out the door, leaving Chloe stranded. 

But that night, she had a dream. In her dream, she had decided to publish her book, and it was amazing. The publishers loved it and it was everywhere. On the news, articles online, even youtube. Her parents were supportive and loved Quillon for everything she was doing. She woke up late with the sun shining through her windows, and was immediately in a determined mood. She was going to publish these stories! She was going to do it with confidence! And she was NOT going to regret it. 

“I’m ready to publish them,” She said with determination when she once again walked through the green doorway of the bookstore that morning. Chloe was ready. She had found an agent to send the books to over email, and a whole plan of how to do it. They set to work and by the end of the day had a draft of her stories, that had always been anonymous, typed up in an email. And finally, she typed her name at the bottom. 

“You ready to send it?” Chloe asked. 

“I’m ready,” Quillon replied, straightening her posture and rolling back her shoulders. Then she inhaled a breath of air and hit the bright blue send button.