by Dylan Allen
His words hit me with a jolt of surprise. How remarkable it is that he can’t see how extraordinary he is.
My butterflies fall away and I smile at him, resolved again, just as I was the day the invitation came.
“You’re right. I’m going to do it. I was just scared,” I smile sheepishly.
“Well, thank God for that. The only people who don’t get scared about stuff like this are the psychopaths. So at least you know you’re not one of those,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.
I blow out a breath, squeeze his hands one last time and then head backstage to get mic’d up.
I smile at the young woman who’s been standing patiently waiting for me to get over my nerves.
The dark blue organza dress gown hugs my upper body and cascades down my body is waves of gold embroidered fabric that swirls around my ankles, leaving just the toes of the strappy high heeled gold sandals exposed.
It’s the most beautiful and the most daring thing I’ve ever worn. Instead of feeling self-conscious in the sleeveless dress with its plunging neckline, I feel beautiful.
I picked it because I loved it, but it’s nice to see heads turn as I walk through the tables. Just before I slip back stage, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I turn to scan the room.
“This way, Beth,” the young woman who’s escorting me says excitedly. I turn to follow her.
“It’s okay that I call you that, right? It’s just that…. None of us know your real name. But we’re all so happy you’re here. You have no idea how inspired we all are. Well, I mean, I’m sure you do, since you have all those new followers and you won the award and everything. I’m so happy to meet you. Your paintings are incredible, but the message behind them is revolutionary. Oh my God, I’m rambling. I should shut up.” Her pretty face is pinched with worry and she looks at me wide eyed and waits for me to speak.
It takes me a minute because the admiration that’s shining in her eyes is mind boggling. This whole thing has been. But her excitement is contagious and I smile at her.
“My name is Beth and thank you for saying all of that. I’m excited to be here.” I wish I was better at speaking off the cuff. I wrote and memorized my speech for tonight to make sure I didn’t forget anything.
“Let’s get you backstage. They’re going to mic you up, and then you’ll hear the introduction and the award presentation and I’ll escort you onto the stage. You can make as long or as short of a speech as you want. We’re all here for you.”
Half an hour later, I’m taking deep breaths, trying to find my focus as I wait for the presentation to start.
“This evenings recipient is one of the most exciting we’ve had since Upward started having this event. Ladies and gentleman, if you’ve had a chance to view the artwork in the brochure, then you know that we’re in the presence of greatness. And not just because she’s got such a unique and outstanding talent. But because of the way she’s chosen to use it. She’s the youngest recipient of this award, but one of the most outstanding. She’s started a movement - one that’s asked us to look at ourselves and see the good. One that encourages us to celebrate the true beauty in each other. She’s been a shining example to the young women from all over the world who follow her.”
I stop paying attention and scan the crowd. I see my girls, the students I teach at the YMCA, sitting at the table Upward gave me so I could invite people to come and support me. I invited them because they care, but also as an apology. They had no idea that IG account was mine.
After Upward’s write-up about me and the announcement of my having won the award, I knew that if I was going to accept it in person, I had to tell them first.
They were amazed and a few of them were hurt that I hadn’t told them, because all of them follow the account.
My followers and requests ballooned over night. I couldn’t keep up with the requests. And it killed me to read their stories and only be able to respond with a few lines of an apology by email. Porsha suggested a Facebook group. So we started one and had three thousand members by the end of the first week. They share with me, and each other. A few them have made their own “mirrors” and they share those, too.
There are these women, all over the world who feel inadequate when they compare themselves to the images that the world says are what they’re supposed to look like.
I try to give them a place where they don’t hear “work harder, eat less, smile more” in answer to their cries for help.
I’m not Oprah or anything, but I’ve got this community online now. And what started as a way to express myself and give something back in return - has turned into a movement.
“With no further ado, I give you the artist we all know as The Free Beth.”
The crowd is on their feet as I walk out onto the stage. My heart is racing and I scan the crowd for my touchstone and smile when I see Joe beaming with pride at our table. I smile at him and he nods and places one of his gnarled hands over his heart.
I glance down, ready to start my speech. I skim the first couple of lines while the crowd settles.
God, can I really do this?
Yes, I can.
I adjust the microphone and look out at the now expectant crowd. My heart is thudding so hard that my throat feels like it’s quaking. I’m so scared. But, I know that this the only way I can break free.
“Good evening, everyone. First, I want to thank Upward for this incredible honor. I dedicate it to the people whose shoulders I stand on. It’s because of them that I can see so far.” My nerves are still running high and so I take a second to find Joe in the crowd. He smiles encouragement at me.
“When I started painting the portraits that have captured so many imaginations, I didn’t think that anyone would even see them. I certainly never thought I’d stand on a stage in front of a room full of people who wanted to thank me for painting them. I’ll be honest and tell you that when I found out that I was being given this award, I wasn’t sure I was ready to make my public debut.
“Not because I don’t believe in my art, I do. I paint with purpose. Every stroke carries a part of my heart that I want to share. But because I was afraid you’d be disappointed by the human being behind the work. I’m no visionary and contrary to the paintings I share of myself online, I don’t really have wings.” I turn my back as if to show them.
A ripple of laughter runs through the room and I relax a little as the room warms up.
“I’m just someone who’s been able to get back up after every fall. I’ve gathered up the broken pieces and put them back together. I’ve tried again, countless times. It was only as I was thinking about what I’d say tonight that I realized how remarkable that is. Cause, I’ve had a few crash landings. My brother told me I was born with this irrepressible hunger for more. He’d say it like it was a good thing. I thought of it as a curse. I wanted things that were so far out of my reach, that I didn’t even bother trying.” I admit and think of how I’d let myself be a prisoner in my grandmother’s house. That will never happen to me again.
“One of the questions the lady from the foundation asked me was why I didn’t show my face. I told her it was because what I look like isn’t important. But that’s only part of the answer. The truth is, I wasn’t sure people would respond to my art the same way if they could actually see me.”
I cringe as a few nervous laughs come from the crowd. “I know, I know. I’ve built a movement that encourages women to take pride in their inner beauty,” I say as if I’m commiserating with them. “But, I’m a work in progress. I’ve spent the last few months dismantling a mindset that was built over the course of a lifetime by very skilled and determined architects. I was taught that my value was rooted in how close I came to the standards of beauty that we see on TV, in movies, in film, online. I wasn’t anything close to that, and because my father said so, I’ve spent my whole life thinking I was nothing.
“I accepted good enough because I thought that was my due. A father who didn’t
love me was better than no family at all. A prison was better than having no shelter from the rain.”
I smile brightly at the crowd.
“And then, I met someone who looked at me and somehow saw the beauty that I carried inside. It was that simple. I got a glimpse of what a full life might be like. He showed me what family, love, joy, and freedom felt like. If the random order of birth had put me in a cage, his love was the key fashioned to fit its lock.”
“The power of a new perspective changed my life. Six months ago, I walked away from a secure future because I knew it would kill me slowly. The future I chose instead was full of curves and shadowed valleys, but populated with dreams I was willing to die for. And you know what I found, ya’ll? All of those times I’d fallen before? They weren’t manifest destiny. They were preparation. I got up stronger, smarter, less afraid of everything. So that when I was finally free, I could see the truth of things. I wasn’t born to endure, or break, I was born to fly.”
A loud round of applause break out, and they give me the courage to finish as I planned.
“So, I’m going to take another leap here with you tonight and practice what I preach, not just online, but in person. There isn’t one definition of beauty - there are seven billion. I’m honored to be able to stand before you and show you mine.”
I close my eyes, take a deep, steadying breath. Without letting that breath loose, I reach up to pull my wig off.
The crowd gasps, but I block it out.
I reach into the tiny clutch purse I carried on stage with me and pull out the make-up removing wipes inside. I start with the left side of my face and wipe my make up off. A hush falls over the crowd.
“Here’s the truth of me. This is what I look like, but it’s not who I am.” I stand barefaced in front of them.
“Yessss, Queen,” male voice calls out, but otherwise, no one makes a sound.
But I know they’re with me. They asked me here in celebration and elevation of the mission that I’ve claimed as my own.
“I am living proof that no matter where you come from, or what lies you’ve been told about yourself, no one is in charge of your future but you,” I point at them.
The audience erupts cheers and my heart soars, as does my voice.
“No matter what you’ve done or what mistakes you’ve made, you’ve got something beautiful inside of you that’s worth knowing. It’s my mission to shed light on the dark places where beautiful things are hidden.” I smile out at the faceless sea of people whose energy is carrying me right now.
“I know that seeing a different version of yourself and your life can change the entire trajectory of your life. What I paint is a reflection of your dreams. I send them to my subjects in the hope that seeing their dreams staring back at them will give them wings. The sky isn’t the limit. It’s part of the scenery in the vast universe you hold dominion over. I’m not saying you won’t stumble and fall flat on your ass. You absolutely will. I’m saying it’s not the petals that make a rose a rose. The essence of it comes from the dark unknowable depths where its roots make their home. In closing, I want you all to know that in my eyes, you are glorious. You are not here by mistake. Declare it, own it, and watch the world bend to your will.”
I’m done, and I feel like I’ve run a marathon.
The room is silent and as it stretches, I start to worry that maybe I got carried away.
To my left, a loud wolf whistle pulls my eyes from the silent crowd. That’s when I see him. My knees nearly give out and I have to lean against the podium to steady myself as I stare into the verdant green eyes of Carter Bosh.
Over the last few months, I’ve heard him described as every woman’s wet dream. It’s true. He’s dangerously handsome, with a body that’s nearly as famous as the voice that launched him to stardom. He’s even more beautiful than he was last time I saw him. But, right now, all I see is the man whose love changed my life. Whose love I wanted to live on for as long as I drew breath.
And I know without a shadow of doubt, despite how it turned out, that if I had to, I would do it all again.
He’s grinning from ear to ear and the man sitting next to him stands, lets out that whistle again, and starts to clap.
The rest of the audience wakes up from whatever trance they were in and join him on their feet.
I don’t hear the thundering applause or cheers.
I don’t think.
I don’t do anything but let my heart lead.
I walk toward him, as if there’s a lasso wrapped around my waist. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I walk off the stage, down the steps, and out into the crowd.
He starts toward me and my heart whimper when an indescribably acute pang of longing swells in my gut and fills my body when I’m finally close enough to touch him.
He had a boyish youthfulness in his eyes the last time I saw him
The last eighteen months has stripped away all of that cushion and comfort. He’s chiseled, refined, honed and on the spectacular end of virile.
From his lush, perfectly cut dark hair, the carefully edged, close-cropped beard that’s bisected by a small scar on his chin.
His face is leaner, his cheekbones sharper, his jaw more defined. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, the rest of the room falling away as I let my thirsty eyes drink their fill.
“Beth?” His expression is hesitant, like he doesn’t know what to do next.
But, I do.
Without waiting for an invitation, I launch myself at him.
His arm wraps around my waist and his hand cups the back of my head and pulls it into him.
I bury my face in his neck and inhale the mint, clean male scent of him.
I’m home.
Finally.
My Best Everything. Ever.
CARTER
I watched her with my entire heart in my throat. I have never been so proud of anyone, ever, in my whole life.
The whole room just witnessed her sweeping tower of her beauty and courage. Then, they saw the way her expression changed from pride to exultant relief….like a dead man walking stumbling on a cure, when her eyes landed on me.
Not everyone gets the kind of love I saw in her eyes. I feel like the luckiest man alive right now because she’s back in my arms.
We’re the magnetic halves of one whole - drawn together, locking into place, and then holding on for dear life through the seismic shift of our world righting itself.
I breathe in her sweet, familiar scent. There’s a new depth to it, less flower, more earth, but the essence of it is unchanged.
“Carter, oh my God, Carter,” she repeats over and over. Her arms are wrapped tight around me like I’m her lifeline.
Holding her again, there’s no doubt that she’s mine.
My heart is beating normally for the first time in almost two years. My lungs inflate fully for the first time in that long, too.
Her nose is pressed to my neck and her lips move against the base of my throat. My body reacts to her nearness, to the press of her curves, her breasts, her thighs, the way her hair smells. So, I put her down. but when I look at her face and see that smile, I want so badly to hold her again, my erection be damned.
A throat clears behind us and I turn sharply back to my table. Nadia’s staring at us with wide, wet eyes.
Next to me, the throat clears again and this time, I follow the sound. Standing to my left, is the man I’d seen her with earlier. The one who’d wrapped his arms around her earlier, is looking at me like if there was a baseball bat in reach, he’s use it to put some distance between me and Beth.
She turns and wraps her arms around his neck hugs him fiercely.
He hugs her back, but his eyes are stony on me.
Who is the cradle robbing asshole?
She pulls out of his embrace and smiles up at him. “Joe, I can’t believe I did it.”
His expression softens the minute he looks down at her, his eyes shine with adoration.
“I can. You did a great job,” he says, and taps the end of her nose with the tip of his finger. She preens and gives him a mock curtsey.
“You gonna introduce me, Beth?” he asks, nodding over her shoulder at me.
Her spine straightens and she nods. Then, she turns back to me, that smile back o her face.
“Carter this is Joe…my neighbor and my friend.” She squeezes his hand and they smile at each other.
“I’m her surrogate father,” he corrects in a deep unequivocal voice, a glint of protective pride in his eyes. He shifts his weight and for the first time I realize he’s leaning on a cane.
“Joe, this is Carter. My….” Her lips purse as she stops to choose her words, but and her eyes are bright with jubilant joy as they scan my face as if the answers to the universe’s mysteries can be found there. “He’s….my best everything. Ever,” she says with a happy, matchlessly beautiful smile.
My heart does that thing…that stumble, trip and fall that has always been its response to being near her.
It doesn’t care that she’s my…whatever. It only knows that for me, she is love.
“I see,” he says and puts an arm around Beth, drawing her closer to his side. My chest tightens at how easily she moves against him.
It’s irrational to be jealous of him.
But I am. It’s clear that she loves him. And I don’t even know him. It reminds me that I’ve missed every aspect of her life since we’ve been apart.
Every milestone.
Every birthday.
Every setback.
Every success.
I want that time back. I know that’s impossible. Looking at her now, seeing what she’s made of herself since I last saw her, I’m thinking that maybe this is exactly what was supposed to happen.
Her speech was amazing. I know the Beth I said goodbye to in Winsome couldn’t have given it. She’s always had it in her. And in the last six months, she’s found the tools to pull it out. It’s clear that this man has been instrumental in that. I let go of my jealousy and decide to be grateful that she had someone like him in her life.
