A Beautiful Tornado

Her beauty took your breath away. But it was different. She was different. 
Her hair was the color of the sky, on a dark and stormy day. Somedays bluer and others grayer. I guess it just depended on how you looked at her. 
Her shirts covered in quotes or prints from books she had read. Very few understood what they meant. 
Her tongue shouted attention but her face said go away. 
Her eyes the color of the sky, a bright and happy color. 
Rarely did she speak. But when she did, everyone stopped. They all listened, but their eyes staring at the metal bar in her mouth. That metal bar was often talked about. Why did she get it? No one knew. I mean at least no one knew of her using it. 
I once asked her why she got it. Her response was quite beautiful. 
“It’s like a prison. It creates a barrier making it harder for me to speak. So when I do speak, I really have to think about what I am going to say. I got it so I don’t overuse words like everyone else. I don’t want to be seen as every other girl. I want to be looked at for who I am. See, if people can look over the stereotypes, than those are the people that deserve to be in my life.” She paused, “I am not a slut, I do not blow people. But this little metal thing would say I do. But I want people to listen to what I am saying, and not what one piece of metal seems to scream.”
I watched her walk away. Her stormy hair swinging in a ponytail. I whispered, “you’re beautiful. Not just you, but the words you say.” But I knew she didn’t hear me. Her mind was traveling the world, while mine was still stuck in this small town. I so envied whoever knew her the way I wished too. She seemed to be an adventure all on her own. I don’t mean in some dirty sexual way, she’s one of those people, that you want to hear what they have to say. You want to learn the thoughts that go through her mind. 
Many people couldn’t leave her alone. So one day she moved away. It was the worst day of my life. Classes weren’t the same. She wasn’t there to speak her mind or to run her fingers through her hair as she concentrated, her eyes searching the classroom for things that weren’t there.

I belong in this small town, my mind incapable of thinking great things. My mind set on getting drunk at every party. My mind set on being like everyone else. She deserves to be someplace new, someplace that her tornado won’t bring up so much dust. Someplace where she can be accepted for her beauty and not shamed for it.

The day she left, there was a note in my locker. Her curvy handwriting covering a small sticky note. “Thank you for seeing beauty where even I see a wreck. We will meet again, Tucker. I love you.”