She stared at the atrocity in front of her. Clad in nothing but a bra and pair of underwear, the girl in front of her seemed to fill up all of her vision. Her hair was too frizzy, her cheekbones were too low, her eyebrows were overgrown and bushy. She was fat.
As she stared at this girl, tears filled her eyes, as did the girl's. Two hands, one from each girl, went up to wipe the falling tears. They moved in unison. She pulled a shirt over her head, and looked at the other girl one last time; she was also wearing the same shirt. She turned away from the mirror trying to convince herself that the girl who had been staring back at her was not her.
She went to her bathroom and plucked at her eyebrows until they were acceptable. She straightened her hair until it was no longer frizzy. She applied make-up to make it appear that her cheekbones were higher than they were. Again the girl turned to the mirror and despite the changes, she still saw the ugly girl she knew she was.
She slowly dressed, not wanting to face the judgmental faces at school. She looked longingly at the donuts on the counter, but left the house with a bite to eat. She walked through the school, not oblivious to the fact that she was practically invisible. People bumped her shoulders and ran into her, without an utterance of an apology.
At the end of the day, she opened her locker to find a note, which looked like it had been hastily shoved through the small slits in the door. Hello Beautiful was written on the front of the folded paper. "Probably got the wrong locker," she muttered to herself as she glanced at the head cheerleader who was the owner of the locker next to her.
But something in the corner caught her eye. Her name. Written carefully in the same beautiful handwriting.
Slowly she opened the folded paper, to see more of that beautiful handwriting.
Dear Bella, I hope you know how beautiful you are. Your spirit shines brighter than anyone's smile ever could. Your love makes me feel wanted. You give me what I need most; the love of a beautiful woman. It doesn't matter that you're not a size 6. besides, I like a woman with a figure. I know you don't see what I do, but I don't know why. When I look at you I see a girl who is struggling to find herself, but a girl who does whatever she can to show genuine love to her friends. I see a girl who has a beautiful smile, and the most hold-able hands known to man. I see a girl who puts others first, even if it means taking blame, or a hit. I see a girl who doesn't see herself correctly. I want you to see yourself the way I do. I want you to look at yourself with love the way you look at your friends. I want you to see true beauty, instead of the superficial kind. I hope you realize that you are beautiful. Because you are. Remember that.
Love always, Me.
As tears filled her eyes, strong arms wrapped around her. "I meant every word of it," a deep voiced whispered in her ear. She turned herself in his arms, and stared into his dark brown eyes.
"Thanks, I really needed this." She admitted.
"I don't understand how you don't see yourself correctly."
"According to society, a size 6 is too big. Growing up in this society it is certain that we would grow up thinking the same thing."
"Well I'm glad you're not a size 6."
She looked at him incredulously. "Why not?"
"Easy, it gives me more to hug." He said adding his charming smile at the end. She blushed as he took her hand and walked her to her car.
She stared at the woman in front of her. Clad in nothing but a bra and pair of underwear, the girl in front of her seemed to fill up all of her vision. Her hair was perfectly frizzy, her cheekbones were perfectly low, her eyebrows were perfectly overgrown and bushy. She was huggable.