I received a call tonight from Jessica. She�s a very pretty girl with thick curly hair, deep brown eyes, and lips that appear to be permanently frozen in a smile, except when she�s happy. Then she cries. Jessica is one of the beautiful people, beautiful in the sense she sees with her heart and not her eyes. She looks within your soul and from there, deep within, she decides if you are a beautiful person, too.

This something very foreign to me. At this time, I am fat. I�m not saying that to put myself down or make you feel sorry for me. I don�t like it, but I admit that this is the word that describes my body right now. I�ve been on a million diets since my childhood, some that worked, none of which lasted. I�m constantly reminded by the world that I am not one of the beautiful people. And I painfully accept this on their terms.

But when I look into Jessica�s eyes, I see how beautiful I am, a reflection of love and unconditional acceptance. A beauty reflected in the mirror of her soul. And I�ve missed her greatly since she left the safe harbor of my classroom and went out into the world to find herself.

She called me tonight at 10:26 p.m. I was on the other line and told her so. She had been to visit me earlier today in my classroom. She had shared her joys, her dreams, her pain, her regrets. We laughed. We cried. We hugged. And both of us silently acknowledged our need and gratitude for each other.

I sensed urgency in her voice, but had to finish my other call, so I got her number and said I�d call her back in a few minutes. She answered between the first and second ring. I though maybe there was something left unsaid from our earlier visit. But no. She wanted to know if I had plans on Saturday. That was after I gave her the Reader�s Digest Condensed version of the Renaissance.

One of the many reasons I love Jessica is because she doesn�t pretend. If she doesn�t know a word, she merely spells it with full faith that I, her former English teacher, will know it and will teach her all she needs to know about it. She then goes on to tell me the reason for her call.

She has a friend she wants me to meet. I immediately laugh and say, �What�s his name?� This is not the first time Jessica has done this. She�s fixed me up once before. I spent a delightful evening having a conversation with myself on a date that lasted from 3 p.m. to 12 a.m. He said he had a good time, and I never heard from him again for a repeat performance. I merely assumed that he did not believe me when I told him during our first phone conversation that I was fat. Or maybe he just didn�t like a woman who talked all the time and acted like she was genuinely interested in his existence rather than his looks.

So my first question was, �How old is he?� She didn�t want to tell me that he was 24. (Much to my relief, he actually turned out to be 34!) She knows me well enough to know I�m 50 at the ripe old age of 30 and tend to stay away from the cradle without knowing what anything in this sentence actually means. Its sarcasm and self-deprecation lost in the purity of her love and admiration for me and all I taught her about life while I was teaching her grammar and vocabulary.

My next question, �Did you tell him what I look like?� I hear in her voice simultaneous comprehension and the complete inability to understand the significance of my question. To Jessica, I am everything in her friend�s request for a new friend to meet. Someone who is fun and funny. Someone who likes to talk.

And I know she looks into my soul and finds me beautiful. The fact that I am fat eludes her understanding of what a beautiful person is. And for a moment, I feel as beautiful as she sees me. And I know this is how God sees me. Not my body, my faults, my failures, but my heart. I smile to myself, and I know I am loved by God and by Jessica, a very pretty girl who is truly beautiful. And I gladly accept this on their terms.

2000 �Iris Laureate

*~*BACK*~*
2000 �Iris Laureate-all poetry copywrighted
1999 � Sites by Starr
Came to read poetry