The Invisible Girl

I’m not a pretty giril. In fact, I’m not really that attractive at all. When people describe me, they would probably say, “She’s one of those girls with a great personality.” I don’t mind it actually. I’ve kind of gotten used to it. I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but it’s sad when you look into the mirror and you can’t even say you’re pretty. Beautiful has never been a word that has felt comfortable in my vocabulary. I’m way more comfortable with average.

It’s not that I don’t like how I look. I think I’m fine for the most part. I’m slightly more than overweight. My hair is less than stellar and my eyes are kind of pretty, but overall, I barely even land on the scale of attractiveness. I don’t know at what age I began to realize that what I looked like couldn’t compare to the others around me. I was never the girl who could get a boyfriend, or who people would fawn all over and throw compliments at. I’m plain. Simple. I don’t really know how else to describe myself.

I think sometimes I get tired of being plain. I kind of wish I could have one of those Pretty Woman kind of moments and someone could transform me into something beautiful, but I supposed Julia Roberts wasn’t the rough canvas that I am. I can’t imagine that anyone could see more than the outward appearance, or that even if they did they could do anything with it. It’s just meant to be, I suppose. Like I said, I’m kind of used to it.

I make up for it in personality, that’s for sure. I could bring down a house with laughter and I make people feel better in bad situations. I work hard at whatever I do, and most people love to have me around. There are moments though when I see someone lean in real close to someone else and I think to myself how unlikely that is to ever be me.

I remember when I was a senior in high school. I had made it that far without much incident, but that year my sister started high school. Unlike me, she was not just a girl with a peronsality. She was one of those exotic beauties. She had gotten our mother’s dark features. Long black hair, beautiful brown eyes, and skin that would make anyone jealous. I tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt when people were shocked to find out she was my sister. I acted like it was funny. Like somehow the fact that people couldn’t see a resemblance was part of a big joke. A big cosmic joke.

For years I had sat in the background, silently observing everyone else and their interactions, but now I seemed to watch as the people who had previously meant nothing to me, begin to become a regular fixture in my everyday life. They were my sister’s best friends. The first boy she started dating in high school was the only boy I had ever really had a crush on. He would have never given me the time of day, but it somehow stung to know that my sister was getting to live the life I had only ever imagined.