Betty Prince
Betty Prince had curly, blond hair and luscious, full lips. Her right eye was perfectly positioned on her face. Her left eye was another story. People stared at that eye because it was lower, and the eyebrow above it was low too. There were complications during Betty’s birth. The doctor used too much pressure with the forceps, and it caused permanent physical damage. Of course, Betty didn’t consciously remember this event, but the trauma was nonetheless buried deep in her psyche. Her classmates were often cruel (as kids can be), and they laughed and called her “Quasimodo.” As she went from class to class, their mocking gazes burned her soul. Most days, she would run home and cry to her mother, who would say, “Betty, dear, they don’t know what a wonderful person you are. This is not your fault. One day, you’ll have people in your life who love you—just the way you are.” Year after year, doctors suggested surgery to improve Betty’s flawed facial features, but Betty and her mother were determined to stand up to the bullies, and her mother dedicated each day to teaching Betty how to love herself as she was. As Betty grew older, she tried to add humor when the subject came up, saying things like, “Well, my face is actually made out of clay. Tomorrow, my right eye will be on my chin!” She never knew whether the laughter was with her or at her expense, but at least she was trying to deal with it. |
One day, Betty was reading a book at the local library and felt someone staring at her. “Here we go again,” she silently gulped. “I thought those days were over.” A soft voice said, “Hello, miss.” Betty looked up and saw a man with a beautiful smile and kind eyes standing in front of her. “Hello to you, sir!” “My name is Stanley. I see that you’re reading a John Irving novel. Is it The World According to Garp?” “No. Actually, it’s A Prayer for Owen Meany.” For the next hour, Betty and Stanley talked, and she didn’t feel the need to say anything about her left eye. It was the easiest conversation that she had ever had with another person (except her parents)—no awkward pauses, no judgment, and no stares. When the library was about to close, Stanley asked Betty to join him for a cup of coffee, and she accepted. As they walked out of the library, Betty noticed that Stanley limped. In the coffee shop, Stanley was the one who brought up the subject. “When I was being delivered, the doctor grabbed my left foot with the forceps because I was turned the wrong way. I guess there was some damage done.” Betty looked at Stanley and smiled. From Carpet Creatures: Tales from the Deep Pile To join the Carpet Creatures project, please visit our TAE Gallery website. |
