Just Slightly Less Than Perfect

Just Slightly Less Than Perfect(Kylee Callais) Flames are licking at the skin on my face and neck, singeing my shoulder-length auburn hair. The furious fire is impossible to stand. I am vaguely aware the sounds around me are fading because the cackle of the fire is muffled.

After a few moments, the fire dies down. All that is left is ashes and the sting of my flesh. I watch the ashes, knowing what is to come. Slowly I see the eyes that seem to rise from the coals and form crowds. I hear the familiar whispers and taunts.

“… Burned…” That’s what they all say. Somehow the words hurt more than the flames that were just raging against me. Not physically painful, but it is a deep pain that reaches into the depth of being, so deep I can feel it in my bones. I try to block out the voices and ignore the stares. Only when I do, the taunts intensify to screams. I yell too, trying to tune them out.

I am jolted awake by the sound of my tortured voice. The taste of salty sweat is on my lips. I swallow trying to get rid of the taste and I’m unsuccessful. Sheets are tangled around me, proving just how restless last night was. You would think after months of the same nightmare, I would stop being so afraid, stop waking up to the sound of my screams.

Slowly, I reach my hand to the top of my nightstand and wrap my fingers around the handle of my mirror. This is a daily routine for me; somehow I can’t give up hope that maybe, just maybe, the fire was just a dream and nothing more. I close my eyes as I pull my hand back to my side, clutching the mirror. In a whispered voice, I repeat my usual plea.

“Please let it just be a dream. Nothing but a scary dream.” With my eyes still squeezed shut and my chest tight with the breath I’m holding, I move the mirror in front of my face. “Please,” I whisper one more time before I open my eyes.

With an exasperated sigh I stare at my marred face in the mirror. My skin is not the smooth and flawless skin it used to be. I am scarred from the fuming flames that took their anger out on me. Remembering that night, I think I hear the flames laughing at me, happy about what they were doing to me. I know this isn’t possible because I was unconscious for most of the fire, but that’s the way I remember it. Or maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself, wallowing, like my mother says.

I think about staying in bed and pouting all day, but then I remember the first time I was home after the fire and the conversation I had with Cole. When I listened carefully, I could still hear my tear-filled voice.

“It’s not fair, Cole. Look at me, my face. How could this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? Why me and not someone else?” My tears were spilling over and I wiped my hand across my wet, sore cheeks.

Cole sighed. “I don’t have the answers. I know it sucks because I’m suppose to know everything.” His small attempt at humor put a tiny grin on my face. “But I do know that you are still you. You are still the best sister I’ve ever had. I’ll love you whether you’re scarred or not. And I always think you‘re beautiful.”

“Thanks, Cole.” I didn’t have to fake this time; I really was grateful for his words. But I couldn’t stop there, the words had to come out.
“You know what the hardest part is? I was perfect. Good grades, great friends, beautiful. Everything anyone could ask for, that’s what I was. And now I’m…” What was I? I had graduated at the top of my class and my friends were really supportive about everything. The only thing that changed was my face. I had lost some beauty. “Now I’m slightly less than perfect.” I smiled at how good that sounded.

Cole must have picked up on what I was meaning because he said, “And if you’re just slightly less than perfect, then you’re doing a lot better than most people.”

Remembering this quote, I got out bed and held my head high as I walked down to breakfast. The whole time thinking, “Just slightly less than perfect.”