Imperfect

Boisterous, bustling, and yet I'm still Bored. Target on a Saturday morning is more fun when you're not browsing the self-help section. Technically I'm not browsing anything mom is. She lives for this crap. I think it's all a crock of shit but whatever, I sigh and mom looks at me, I shrug and she turns back to the books. I know I'm not being fair I'm just bitter. Self help, I can't help myself. No one can help me, not even Rachel Hollis. Gal-pal Rachel, good ol' Rachel Hollis bringer of girl power and taking no shit. I should appreciate that but for some reason I can't manage it. Is It because she's pretty? She's blond and thin, looks tall, she has that "I could be your friend" thing going on. She looks like nothing bad has ever happened to her. What the fuck does she know about me? I don't bother to pick up her book "Wash your face" or something. All I do is wash my face and my legs and my hands and my neck and my memory. She'd probably fight back. She'd kick. She'd say no. She'd punch his throat. We get it you're strong, let me be weak in peace. Unlike Queen Rachel I look fucked up. My nails are always bleeding and my clothes are four sizes too big. My eyes are always wide and I don't say much. I almost want to believe someone did hurt Rachel, like if she can be tall and blond and bubbly after getting hurt maybe I could try a dress once in a while. But if she's writing books and smiling then what's wrong with me?

  I realize mom is speaking to me, "I'm gonna go to the other side of this display ok?" She says with an armful of books. I tell her I'll be here while I'm thinking how lucky she is to make enough money for this hobby. Mom's an interior designer for single women, she brings over wine and stuffed mushrooms with her paint swatches. Her clients love her. She even has glitter on her business card: Regina Kinsley Decorating should be fun! I have no idea how she gets any business with that card but she's good at her job. I've seen some of the places she's done and surprisingly they're not all pink. Mom says it's "important to respect every taste of the rainbow" I don't know exactly what she means by that but I get the gist. 

  I think her and Rachel would get along. All glitter and happy and "choose empowerment". Life is a world of rainbows for my mother, she gets up and makes fancy pancakes, goes to a job she loves, comes home and hangs out with me and our cat (who is the most well behaved thing you'd ever meet). We're not poor, she's mentally stable and she has good friends. Rachel and mom, mom and Rachel, perfect-shiny-normal women talking about how fucked up I am.

 "Oh, poor Ari, poor little Arabella, she's so plain and drab" they'd say as their pretty blond hair falls into their pretty pale faces while they sip chardonnay. 

  My mom isn't a bad mom, she's just too perfect. Too happy. Too normal. No one ever tells me I look like mom, no one would guess we're even related. She's average height and thin but in the pretty way, she has blue eyes and wears pink lip gloss, she is a walking Barbie doll. And a nice one at that! She'd never tell me to lose weight or straighten my hair, she never makes me feel ugly compared to her, I just do. It doesn't help that even with my boring brown hair and the squish of fat between my thighs he still took advantage of me, still hurt me, what good is being ugly if it doesn't even keep gross guys away?  

  Mom comes around the side breaking me out of my thoughts. I stare at her for a few minutes as she labors over which books to leave behind, 

"Mom?" 

"Yes sweetheart?" She's still looking down

"Why, um, why do you read these books?" I look at her dangly earrings and pink denim jacket (bleh)

She looks up at me,

"Oh. I guess I don't feel unique enough, sometimes I feel like a plastic doll instead of a real person and I can't be plastic if I want to be a good designer or person or mom even, why do you ask? I know you hate the books" She is looking at me now.

I don't speak.

She doesn't ask anything, we walk towards checkout and talk about Princess (the aforementioned cat) and summer vacation coming up. I almost think she'll let it go until we're walking to the car.

  She pauses beside our grey Nissan (i know, I thought she'd get a pink car as much as the next girl)

"Honey are you sure you're ok? You seem down lately and I know you're a teenager and believe you me I do not want to be hovering but, are you ok?" She holds my eyes in here for a second.

She hasn't put all the books away and the one she's holding catches my eye.

In the coincidence of all coincidences there Rachel Hollis is smiling at me from her book.

Rachel thinks I should tell mom.

I think Rachel is right

"Yeah but uh," it takes me a second to keep talking,

"Yeah?" She starts to laugh but stops when she sees my face

"Ari, what's wrong?" 

"When we get home... can I talk to you about something?" Tears threaten to spill over when I get to something.

My eyes are closed shut until I feel her hugging me. The books jab into my shoulder but I don't mind. I also don't know what to say about the Thing that happened when I'm I the middle of a packed target parking lot. Mom pulls away and looks at me

"Of course you can" and in the middle of a packed target parking lot I cry.