Beautiful: Truth's Found When Beauty's Lost Part 21

Ellie stared at the good side of her face. The skin was smooth and unblemished. The fairness of her skin had bugged her before. Megan tanned more easily and had once called her the Sunscreen Queen.

Turning her head to the mangled skin on her left side, she stared for a long time. It wasn't a shock to look at it anymore. But how would other people see it on first view? It reminded her of a candle that had melted and then grown hard again. You could see some of the ridges and lines where the skin was damaged and where they'd first tried the dermabrasion technique. Her face was healing, and in a few months they'd perform another surgery, tear everything up and wait for healing again. They'd do surgery after surgery until her wounds looked the best the plastic surgeons could do.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door.

"Are you almost out?" Megan asked.

"We have more than one bathroom."

"All my stuff is in there."

Ellie pulled up her black sweats, pausing a moment to view the smooth skin on her right hip and thigh. The surgeons would soon take squares of this good skin to try covering the bad along her entire left side. It made her think of making papier-mache masks in grade school: cutting up strips of newspaper, dipping them in the gloppy paste, and laying them on a balloon to form the mask. She'd have a mask made from her b.u.t.t and thighs. The seams would go away eventually, the doctor told her. But that area wouldn't be smooth and unblemished as it was now. Instead of getting better, she'd always have to endure pain to improve. Nothing was patched up without some kind of pain.

She unlocked the door.

"What are you doing in there?" Megan asked, hands on her hips.

"Smoking crack."

"You know, I really don't like your sarcasm."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It was in English. No comprende?

"You didn't like me before, you don't like me now-what's new?"

Megan shook her head.

Ellie turned to the mirror, suddenly self-conscious beneath the bright bathroom lights. She flipped off the main light and pulled her hair forward to cover her neck. It wouldn't fall enough to completely cover the side of her face, but it helped.

"When Will gets here, tell him I can't go," she said.

"Is that right?" He was standing behind Megan.

Ellie jumped when she saw him.

"Agoraphobic now?"

"No," she said.

"Yes," Megan said, motioning for Ellie to leave the bathroom. "But she doesn't know what that means. Remember, my sister was perfect and had everything going for her. Why would she fill her mind with vocabulary that included phobias?"

"A cruel sister. Do you find your approach motivating to her?" Will asked.

Megan paused. "I don't see it as cruelty. Perhaps unsympathetic honesty. I like who she is now better than before."

"Because of your issues or hers?"

Megan put her hands on her hips. "That would be both, Dr. Carl Jung."

Will smiled at that as Ellie glanced back and forth between the two of them. She didn't know what agoraphobic was. The fear of something. And who was Carl Jung-some famous psychotherapist or something?

"Agoraphobia is the fear of leaving your house," Megan said, again motioning for Ellie to leave the bathroom.

Ellie nodded, feeling a sudden weight of tiredness. They could label her whatever they wanted, but it wasn't accurate. She wasn't afraid of leaving her house. She was afraid of any and every single set of eyes landing on any part of her. What was that? Eyesaphobia? Sightaphobia? Perhaps she could find a cute blind guy to date. That wasn't a bad idea, actually.

"I have nothing to wear."

"Jeans, T-s.h.i.+rt."

"Jeans hurt me."

"Wear something of mine," Megan said.

"Make her come too," Ellie said to Will.

"I'll come," Megan said, guiding Ellie from the bathroom.

"Get ready, then, ladies. You need your public unveiling sometime."

Ellie thought again about what to wear. "Will it be dark?"

Will acted like he was looking out the window to inspect the night. "Looks dark, since it is night."

"No, at the place we're going to."

"Why?" he asked, as if daring her to admit that she didn't want people to see her.

"Forget it," she said. "I'm going to ask Megan what she's wearing."

"I bet you never thought you'd ask that question."

They both smiled at that.

Ellie followed Will and Megan through a large dirt parking area, keeping her head tilted. The hat she wore helped to keep her hair falling forward to cover a good portion of her scars. People milled around their cars; a few others moved forward toward the low lighting coming from the trees.

"What is this place?"

"It's called Jonah's Farm. This guy from the Bay Area-some former dot-commer-moved up here and bought this farm, sort of an organic hippie deal. Every weekend he lets people come hang out, listen to music, whatever. They're going to have their first music festival in the summer."

Megan appeared familiar with this place as well. So this was where they went on the weekends? Jonah's Farm?

Ellie saw that this wasn't a gathering for jocks and cheerleaders or drinkers of appletinis or those who enjoyed beer-drinking games. Smoke lingered in the air. A group of guys and girls walked together, wearing clothing that looked more seventies than the seventies.

Will carried a large, thick blanket, and Megan a thermos of something. Ellie s.h.i.+vered and stayed close to them. It was dark in the parking lot, but they were moving to an area with lanterns and more people.

They came to the top of a sloping hill with a large wooden stage at the bottom. People lounged around the base of the stage. Off to one side a guy was cooking on a giant grill. Someone played a harmonica. There had to be a hundred people or more.

"Over here," Will said, moving among people till he laid out the blanket in an empty spot.

He and Megan said h.e.l.lo to several people, nodded to some others. Ellie tried to act as if everything was normal, but she felt as if her face were a beacon for eyes and whispered discussions-though she didn't actually see anyone looking twice her way.

They had just settled onto the blanket when the guy at the giant barbecue grill jumped onto the stage and tapped the microphone.

"I guess that means it's on," he said with a laugh. He was in his thirties, she guessed, and wore baggy jeans and a loose-fitting gray s.h.i.+rt.

"That's Jonah," Will said.

Jonah took the microphone in hand. "We're going to get started, so I'll be shutting down the grill until after our singer. We've still got kabobs with shrimp and mushrooms."

What is this? Ellie wondered. It reminded her of youth group gatherings or camp, where they'd sit outside and someone would play the guitar. It made her miss those days, the great sense of peace, with the stars bright overhead and G.o.d so near. She looked up. The stars were there, as if waiting for her to finally notice.

"Our featured artist tonight is Cara Lee."

A girl in her early twenties hopped up cheerily to the microphone. "Thanks for having me." She did a little dip. Her hair was in short pigtails with flared-out ends and red polka-dot ribbons. Her dress reminded Ellie of Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, only toned down a bit.

"I love being in Redding again."

The crowd clapped loudly at that.

"You didn't tell me this would be, like, professional," Ellie said, leaning toward Will.

"It's not."

Cara Lee sang in a high, sweet voice as she strummed her guitar. She sounded folksy with a touch of rock, and strangely innocent and endearing. When the audience cheered, she smiled with shy pleasure.

"I brought some of my artwork this year. You can see it in Jonah's gallery in the converted barn. I stayed the past two winters in a little town in Wyoming and learned how to do some gla.s.sblowing. The vases are filled with various representations of the people and experiences I've had in the past four years of traveling. I call them my Life Vases, and I hope you'll check them out after the show."

The next song was about a dog and a hobo traveling a midnight train.

As Cara Lee sang, the sadness in the tone suddenly made Ellie want to cry. She thought of how so much happened on the fringe of what she'd been aware of. Her life had been constant activity, controlled chaos, scheduled events of homework, family, school events, church activities. Everything was about doing, instead of about being.

This world, the world Cara Lee sang about, was about being, expressing, breathing in life with all its good and bad. This was a world she hadn't seen. And didn't know she wanted to see.

As Cara Lee continued playing her guitar, she said, "I've been traveling around to bluegra.s.s festivals and little gatherings like this all my life. People seem to like my music and my experiments in art. And only in the past year or so have I started telling a bit about my story. I guess our stories are as important as our songs and our art. Guess our stories are our art."

People clapped, and a few yelled and whistled.

"So I have a little story to tell about a girl who loved her father and spent years on the road with him, sitting on his guitar case while he made music. A few times they were pretty poor, and she quickly learned to sing with her daddy because that brought more dollars into the jar. And sometimes they were doing pretty well, and it looked like they might get a house and she could go to school and make friends, like the other girls she saw in towns all over this great country."

She strummed, then picked at the guitar's strings, picking up speed as the audience clapped in rhythm.

"He taught me how to play and how to listen to people from every walk of life. He was a lover of life. But when I was eleven, our time together came to an end-at least on this earth." She paused then, picking at the guitar in a gentle little tune. "Most people don't even notice . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she held up her hand. She was missing two fingers.

There was a reaction that rippled through the crowd.

"We were on a riverboat. He'd been booked as the entertainment, me as the usual backup. The boat driver was drunk and hit some old bridge pilings. I was trapped. My dad was a hero as usual." She kind of shrugged then, as if the audience could fill in the missing parts.

Ellie could vividly imagine Cara Lee as a girl with pigtails, her fingers crushed and her small body trapped as her father fought to save her and others before being swept down into the cold waters.

"I only tell that story because I know there are people here in all sorts of dark places for various reasons. And you know, we can do great things with whatever we've got going on."

The audience cheered, and a few people stood up, and then more. Ellie couldn't get her legs to move. She felt chills crawl over her skin. Anger burned in her throat. How could Will bring her here to listen to this? If he looked at her with any kind of smug expression, she'd slap him. But Will was standing with his face toward the stage. And from the corner of her eye, Ellie saw her sister still on the edge of the blanket, turning away and wiping her eyes.

As Cara Lee returned to the music and the audience relaxed back against their blankets, Will reached a hand to cover Ellie's. He didn't look at her or say a word, simply rested his hand over hers and after a while wove his fingers through hers. The simple touch sent waves of emotion-everything from embarra.s.sment, wondering what others would think of this good-looking guy with the deformed girl, to warmth and a longing to rest her head against his chest, and also to anger at a world so filled with pain and sorrow. She held it all in, clenching her jaw even though it hurt, afraid to let even a single tear go for fear she'd be undone and never stop crying.

After the concert they walked to what was once a barn but now could pa.s.s for any gallery in a metropolitan city. Ellie stayed between Megan and Will.

"Why didn't he come?" Will asked Megan.

She held up her phone a bit. "Couldn't get off work in time."

Ellie glanced at her sister but didn't ask. Megan and Will knew a number of people, who greeted Ellie with complete indifference when they were introduced. She had a few moments of forgetting about her face. Then she'd remember and shy away.

Cara Lee's vases were beautiful, funky, cute, twisted. One was filled with colored cuts of gla.s.s and had a light s.h.i.+ning from behind. It was called Jenny. The black vase had rocks and razors attached to the gla.s.s. It was called Last Night in LA.

Though Ellie wanted to talk to Cara Lee, she stayed away from the cl.u.s.ter of people surrounding the artist. The old Ellie would have waited and eventually gone up to her, told her how much she enjoyed her music. But that old Ellie wouldn't know true inspiration because she'd yet to know true pain. Now, she knew, Cara Lee would look her in the face and understand. No words would need to be exchanged, no small talk or surface questions about her art or the next place she'd be singing.

And that was exactly why Ellie stayed away.

Megan was talking to some people she didn't know, and Ellie's body was throbbing from the left to the right. She needed to go soon. This was the longest she'd been out.

"So what did you think?" Will asked.

"I guess you had a purpose for bringing me tonight? Make me see that a disability shouldn't stop me?"

"Did it work?"

She wanted to shoot something back, but the truth was, it had inspired her. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I didn't know she'd say all of that. Just wanted you to come with me. I told you, I'm taking advantage of this friends.h.i.+p."

"Cigarette," she muttered, unable to tease him back. The pain must have shone in her eyes. "I need to go home now."

"I'll get Megan."

"What are you doing?" Megan grabbed the cigarette out of Ellie's hand as soon as she saw it.

"It helps," Ellie said. The pain was raging, and she wondered if she could walk all the way to the car.

"What are you, stupid?" Megan was cursing at Will as he helped Ellie walk. Finally he picked her up, which made her cry out, and carried her the rest of the way to the car.

"Guess I know how to end the night," Ellie whispered with her eyes closed as he set her into the front pa.s.senger seat.