“Diedre,” I whisper, “do you feel beautiful?”
Diedre shrugs, picking up the skirt of the dress, and dropping it again. “Kind of.”
I grab her shoulders and turn her so she’s facing the mirror full on. “Look at that girl. What do you see?”
Diedre stares at herself, and I hope she’s seeing what everyone else can. “All I see are my love handles. And my wiggly arms.” She waves her arms which are completely wiggle free above her head.
I grab her hand. “Beauty has little to do with what you can see in a mirror, and everything to do with how you feel inside.”
“Easy for you to say.” Diedre sniffs and pulls her hand out of my grasp. “You could be a swimsuit model.”
She has no clue. Which is why I should tell her. That’s how my aunt helped me. By sharing her own experience.
”I haven’t always been this confident.” I take a breath. “One day in fifth grade, I was standing at the front of the class giving my first presentation ever when a boy in the back row called me fat. Everyone heard, and they all started laughing at me.” I clear the sudden lump in my throat. It was so long ago, it shouldn’t hurt. But that memory is a part of me and still, every time I’m in front of a crowd, I tense up and get nervous, terrified something bad will happen again.
“The rest of the week I was teased incessantly,” I continue, ”so I… stopped eating at school. I started passing out due to anemia.” I pause and study her, trying to portray with my eyes and my heart, that she’s not alone.
“But then my aunt taught me about portion control, about health and fitness, how they go hand in hand. It wasn’t easy, and every now and then I find myself living in fear of food again. I still don’t have the best relationship with food,” I admit, finding Lyndi’s eyes in the mirror. She gives me a soft, ever knowing smile. “But I’m trying. Because I’ve learned what I put into my body does not change who I am.” There’s Connor in my head again, sitting across from me in the closet, holding out a Snickers. My heart clenches.
I lower my voice and squeeze Diedre’s arms. “It won’t change you either.”
Diedre’s bottom lip quivers and tears pool in her eyes, and for the first time, I feel like I’m truly seeing her.
“All I see is beauty.”
A tear slips down Diedre’s cheek, and she swipes it off. I’m worried she’s going to yell at me for overstepping, but then her arms are around me. My arms are stiff at my side for only a moment before I hold her back.
It’s quiet for a moment before Diedre speaks up. “My mom hates me. She said I’m the reason my dad left. And she”—Diedre sniffs—“she always controls what I eat. That stuff you saw me with in the hall, was a diet powder my mom said would work wonders for my body. But it actually just made me puke. Which might have been the point.”
I want to track down Diedre’s mother and give her a piece of my mind.
”She constantly tells me how hideous I am and how no one will ever love me. And I believed her.” She sniffs again. “I don’t want to believe it anymore.”
My heart aches for her. No girl should ever feel unloved because of their body shape. Their value is so much greater than a number on a scale. I want—no,need—these girls to know they are perfect as they are.
I want to be their coach.
“Here.” Lyndi picks up the abandoned pizza box and brings it closer. “It’s time to heal.”
I laugh and rub my nose. “I think it’s going to take a little more than some pizza.”
“I know.” Lyndi grins. “But what better way to start?”
I take a slice, and for the first time in years, enjoy it without worrying about all the carbs that are going to turn to sugar in my bloodstream. Okay, I’m a bit of a control freak, so I still worry about it a little. But sometimes a slice of pizza is good for the soul.
Diedre does the same, and for the rest of the night, she no longer criticizes herself in each new dress, but flaunts it while Lyndi and I cheer. I know it’s going to take a while for her to love herself, but I’m so proud of her for trying.
“I have the perfect idea for your dress. And I’ll get Lisa to help me pull it together in time,” Lyndi says once Diedre is back in her normal clothes. She takes some measurements, and then Diedre and I leave.
“Miss M?” Diedre asks on our way out.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?” I’m pretty sure Lyndi did everything tonight.
“For caring,” she says. We are both quiet as I drive her home, but my mind is spinning.
