Bumps and Lines

“I am Beautiful,” Tara said out loud, looking at herself naked in the mirror. Her hair fell like tight ribbons over her shoulders and lifted with each turn she made, creating a golden waterfall. She turned to her right, then to her left checking herself out over her shoulder noticing the freckles that spread themselves out over her light skin the way the stars shine against the dark sky. Tara loved to trace the lines of her body, the curve of her spine, the width of her hips. “ I am beautiful,” she said again, noticing the way her breasts hung in alignment with her belly button. Standing on her tippy toes as if in heels, she loved the muscles her thighs made when pressed together to keep herself in balance. “The bumps and lines is how our body tells us we are still alive. Thank them every day for existing,” her mother would say to her. “Thank you,” she said in the mirror to the dimples in her belly and the lines that stretched across the backs of her legs. Tara was 13 years old.

When Tara reached 16, she walked with confidence. Her body matured faster than any of the other girls in her sophomore year of high school, and she loved every part of it. She walked through the halls, swaying her hips with a bright smile spread across her face. Boys stared at her everywhere she went and Tara was not short of friends. She was smart, class president, and her confidence lit up every room she stepped into.

Her favorite class was Math taught by her favorite teacher, Mr. Anderson. Mr. Anderson was an honest looking man. He was not overly tall or overly muscular. His pants did not hug his body too tight, and his hands always remained where his students could see them. Tara loved staying late after class to challenge Mr. Anderson on problems she had come up with on her own. He, in turn, was blown away by her mind. One afternoon, on a Tuesday, Tara again posed another problem to Mr. Anderson. He asked her to write it on the board as he always did, and so she went to the ledge and grabbed for a piece of chalk beginning to write the equation at eye’s view. “Why don’t you write it a little higher that way we have more room to work through it,” he said to her. Tara saw no problem and stretched her arm a little higher. “Oh come on, Tara. You can reach higher than that. Reach as high as you can and I’ll tell you when to stop.” Tara wondered why he was asking, but proceeded anyways because Mr. Anderson was an honest man. So, she reached as high as she could manage, feeling her skirt rise with her. Before she knew it Mr. Anderson was standing behind her, pressing her up against the board. Tara, stunned, didn’t know what to do. Was she to yell? She trusted Mr. Anderson, but now, she forgot what is was to trust, and then forgot to trust her own body.

Tara left the room feeling ashamed and embarrassed. She did not know what she should do. She was class president and Mr. Anderson was a teacher loved by all. She couldn’t tell anyone, wouldn’t tell anyone. She buried this secret deep down inside of her and pretended as if it never happened. When Tara stopped staying late after class Mr. Anderson asked why and she said, “I’ve started taking dance classes, so I can’t stay anymore,” and he eventually stopped asking. From that point on, Tara’s grades dropped and she cancelled on her friends when they asked her to go out on a Friday night. She distanced herself from everyone she knew and spent most of her time curled up in her bed: numb, emotionless. When graduation came around, she left without honors, without recognition losing her title as class president, and began college with an underdeveloped eating disorder.

During her freshman year in college, Tara became smitten with a senior, Jackson, who took her out on fancy dinner dates and reminded her of how pretty she was. One day he said, “You would look so pretty with your hair straight,” pushing the curly strand of hair out of her face. Another day he said, “Why do you dress with your chest all out? You have such a beautiful body, don’t you want to save it?” Tara didn’t mind the changes, she purchased a hair straightener and bought more conservative clothes that covered the curves she once strutted in so confidently. When sitting at dinner one night Jackson ordered a piece of chocolate cake for the two to share. “You’re not going to want to eat all of it, I’ve noticed you’ve gained weight. Your body is perfect the way it is, why do you want to change it?” Tara became overly self-conscious and started to feel as if she could do nothing right. And when Jackson saw her wearing a shirt that was too low, one day, he pushed her down on her bed and slapped her across the face. He said to her, “Why would you want to embarrass me like that! What have I done to you!” Tara had no one to talk to about what was going on with her. She was afraid to speak up, she was afraid that it was all her fault and that no one would believe her.

When she was approaching her senior year, it had been forever since she had last looked at herself in the mirror after a shower. She had become afraid of her body, but decided to look cautiously. When she dropped her towel, her skin had lost its youthful complexion, her freckles looked dull. Her hair was damaged from the constant straightening, and her body had no more bumps and no more lines. She remembered what her mother used to tell her and felt as if her body had failed her. She blamed herself for all that had happened to her up to this point and couldn’t imagine it getting better, until one day her English Professor, Professor Lang, told her how much she enjoyed an essay she had written and that she should try writing for the college newspaper. Tara would attend meetings and quietly listen to the discussions being held. When given assignments, everyone loved them.

As time went on, each meeting Tara became more open to her peers. She started making friends and ended her relationship with Jackson. She still had not told anyone what she went through, but she began to feel better knowing she was doing something right, something that she hadn’t even realized she loved to do, write. She threw away her hair straightener, wore the clothes that made her feel good about herself, and put her natural weight back on. She had a budding social life and a bright future ahead of her. Professor Lang became a mentor to Tara, someone who she could trust, and slowly she began to trust herself.

By the end of her senior year, Tara looked at herself in the mirror and turned left, then right. She kept searching all over her body until she saw it, a small dent on the back of her leg. She smiled at herself in the mirror and said, “Thank you.”