Leanne Baugh - The Story of My Face

To Joel, Hannah, and Emma

my sun, moon, and stars.

And it took cutting back

the prettiest parts of myself

to finally realize that this shell

does not define me.

For I am so much more

than the flesh and bone

that case the beautiful tragedies

of my heart and mind.

~Becca Lee~

DUCK AND COVER

T he sun sits in a brilliant blue sky, making the snow sparkle. To the west, cows and hay bales speckle the rolling hills right to the foothills. Snowy Rocky Mountains rise in the distance. I used to want to live right in the middle of those mountains. Not anymore. A shiver comes over me, and not just because of the cold breeze that whips the air.

Simon and I walk down the long driveway toward the township road. My boots squeak on the packed snow where Dads truck plowed a track on his way to work early this morning.

I thought you were my best friend, I say.

I am your best friend, Abby. What could be worse than taking the school bus and facing everyone right off the bat? His bushy brown hair and eyelashes are tinged with white frost.

Nothing is worse! The scar on my thigh rubs against my near

frozen jeans. I stomp my foot, which does nothing to stop the irritation. Just when everyone thought spring had arrived, the weather turned icy. March in southwestern Alberta always keeps you guessing.

All the gawking, pointing, and sniggering will fizzle out in the twenty minutes it takes to get to school. Then youre done, says Simon. Im doing you a big favor. Besides, all the major players are on this busSerena, Briar, Grace, Liam

I was really hoping to avoid Liam. Praying that he changed schools or went on the student exchange to Spain like hed talked about or was abducted by aliens. Nice aliens, not the ones that dissect human bodies and extract organs.

I thank every deity ever dreamed up that Mason drives his beat-up truck to school and no longer takes the bus. But I wont be able to avoid him for long. Please, please, please dont let him be in my drama class. My stomach suddenly feels like I drank a pitcher of sulfuric acid.

I dig in my jacket pocket for the figurine my grandma gave me while I was in the hospital. A small wooden carving of a bear standing upright on its hind legs, arms outstretched, head thrown back. I take off my glove and rub the smooth surface with my thumb and then hold it tightly.

The school bus heads down the road toward us. I breathe deeply, creating an icy fog and pull my scarf over my face. I try to quell the shakiness in my body. My heart beats a heavy-metal drum solo. I grab Simons arm, something to hold me up. As the bus pulls to a stop, I see a row of faces in the frosted windows, including Liams, peering out at methe freak show.

The door swooshes open. I push Simons tall lanky body ahead of me.

Simon, to what do I owe this pleasure? Jeep in the shop? Kelly has been the same bus driver on our route since we started at Rocky View High in grade nine.

Just couldnt stay away from you any longer, Kelly.

Her face opens into a big smile and she slaps her knee. The thick roll around her belly jiggles when she laughs. Hey, Abby. Welcome back, she says.

Thanks for the card you sent me, I say quietly as I climb the steps and pull the hood of my jacket over my head as far as it will go. But it doesnt cover enough of my face. I hide behind Simon as he makes his way down the aisle. Out of the corner of my good eye I can see peoples reactionsgoing wide-eyed like theyve just seen a bad accident, doing double takes, craning to see more of me under my hood, talking behind their hands. I feel like puking.

Hey, girlfriend, Serena says to me in a cheerful way that sounds as fake as her thick, curled eyelashes look. Whats up?

Briar, Serenas wannabe clone and my replacement, sits with her and waves lazily at me with her bright orange nails, barely taking her eyes off her phone. The disaster that is my face is old news to Briar. She already closely scrutinized me when Serena brought her over to my house last fall soon after I got out of the hospital. The whole twenty-two minutes and forty-two seconds they were over. Briars mouth gaped, her eyes opened as wide as anatomically possible, and her eyebrows raised so high I thought theyd disappear into her hairline.

Grace is in the seat across the aisle.

Glad youre back, Abbs. Grace stands, her black corkscrew curls stuffed under her red hat. She searches my face with her dark brown eyes in a warm, gentle way and gives me a big hug.

Thanks.

I spot Liam sitting by himself and our eyes meet. I pull the scarf higher over my face. My heart pounds even harder. He quickly shuts his eyes, leans his mop of blond hair against the window, and listens to music I can hear coming through his earbuds. Probably Kongos or The Killers.

Simon leads me to the bench at the very back of the bus and sits beside Jackson, his fellow computer geek. They bonded at nerd camp at the University of Calgary last summer.

Hey, Abby. Jackson looks everywhere but right at me. His cheeks are round and red. He still has braces on his teeth.

Hi. I sit.

I keep holding tightly to the wooden bear. As Simon and Jackson natter on about programming languages, all I can think about is how much I dread walking through the school doors.

***

Being on display in front of the whole school is far worse than the bus ride. I feel naked as crowds of students in the hallway, heading for class, jostle me. I try to be invisible under my hat and scarf, but a group of pesky grade nine boys points at me. They dont even try to hide their disgust. People Ive known since elementary school stare. When they finally clue in by mentally rearranging the puzzle pieces of my face, they offer feeble greetings.

Mason and Dax are laughing and joking with a group of guys. In true Mason style, just for sport, he trips a poor unsuspecting grade nine boy, who falls flat on his face. Books and papers fly across the floor. His buddies laugh even louder. I have to stay as far away as possible from Mason for the next few months until school ends. Keeping my head down, I weave away through the swarm.

Near the school office, the glass case still displays photographs of last springs drama performance, Saint Joan, by George Bernard Shaw. There I stand, center stage as Joan of Arc, my army of French compatriots behind me. My hand raised, beseeching Commander Dunois to lead the forces against the English . That night was pure magic. As soon as I was on that stage, the rest of the world fell away. Sounds weird, but I truly felt that night I embodied Joan of Arc. I swear I could even hear the voices of Saint Margaret and Saint Catherine, the angels who were sent by God to guide Joan on her mission . My lines flowed out of me as if I never had to memorize or rehearse them. I study another close-up shot of me. In spite of with the harsh shadows of the theater lights, my face looks normal, even pretty. I want to sit down right here in the main hallway and bawl my eyes out.

Im supposed to be heading for biology class. Instead I take a detour behind the stage of the auditorium. I try the door to the prop room. Locked. I walk around to the door at the other side of the stage and find the costume room open. Dresses, pants, shirts, flouncy blouses, ties, hats, shoes, and bolts of different kinds of fabric are stuffed on shelves.