Too Ugly

A few years back I was asked to help out with my 20th-year high school reunion. Having never really moved away from my hometown, word must have got out that I would possibly be of some help in finding some of the “lost alumni” missing from the registry list.

I got a call from the former student body president and homecoming queen of our graduating class. Let’s call her, Jessica. I first met Jessica in the 6th grade. She had just moved into a new school district and basically did not know anyone. She was a pretty girl, with long dark curly hair, and blue eyes; the kind of girl you would assume one day belonging to a more popular crowd, but until then, she sat next to me on the bench waiting for her turn at four square and tetherball. In between games, we would talk to each other, and I would listen to her complain about how bored she was and how she missed her friends at her old school. She wanted to be liked and didn’t understand why she wasn’t yet accepted by the popular kids. Eventually, as predicted, the “popular kids” whisked her away from her spot next to me on the bench. After that, we really didn’t talk to each other until many years later.

“Julie, it’s been so long!” Jessica exclaimed over the phone, “I’m so glad you are willing to help me with this project!”

The phone call suddenly sparked a newly kindled relationship, and we found ourselves in constant contact for weeks with each other. Jessica’s husband had set up an impressive contact list that we both could access and work from. Right off the bat, I was able to locate a number of people from the lost alumni list. Some had never left town, and a few were sadly already deceased.

I did not mention or ask Jessica as to why I hadn’t been notified of any past reunions. My name was clearly not on the “lost alumni” list, yet I didn’t remember ever being invited to the 5th or even 10th-year reunion. Apparently, the former student body of a graduating class takes turns in the organizing of each reunion. Jessica was the only person of the student body that actually saw my name and remembered me, and it was the only reason why I said that I would help her.

I was not really much involved in many social extracurricular activities in high school, nor would I’ve considered myself as anyone remotely popular. I hung out with only a small circle of friends (mostly girls) with whom I had relatively kept in touch with only a few random notes on social media, or a yearly Christmas card. In high school, we were considered good students who belonged to the Girls Honor Society and jazz band. We went to the football games, talked about our crushes, and some of us went to dances and we did other normal teenage things, but for the most part, we sat on the sidelines waiting for our four years of high school be to be done and over with. Some of us yearned to start college, while I and others just wanted to get out of there.

The only social run-ins with others other than my friends, outside of high school consisted of only rare and random encounters in grocery stores, or lines at banks, church, or other public places, and most of these interactions involved nothing more than an obligatory nod of recognition if anything. I lived in a relatively small town and graduated high school with the same people who I started kindergarten with. There were a few people that I knew of that worked in the same large county building as I did, and there were others who would appear at my window to pay a traffic ticket. I would read about some of them in the local newspaper or hear about them on the news. If anyone died, I would eventually hear about it by word of mouth. I knew of them, and for the most part, who knows if they knew of me.

As the weeks past, Jessica and I were getting close to the date of the reunion with only a few people left on the list waiting to be found. We found other classmates to volunteer with other arrangements for the reunion, and everything seemed to be progressing well. One afternoon Jessica called me with what she called, “exciting news”.

“I just got off the phone with Derek Dubeck,” Jessica joyfully tells me, “Remember him, Julie? We had a really good conversation.”

Derek Dubeck; of course, I remembered him. How could anyone not remember that guy? He was one of the most popular kids in school, and I couldn’t stand him; I actually loathed his memory.

Of course, Jessica was taken back by my lack of enthusiasm in regards to her phone call with Derek. I guess she was confused as to why I wasn’t more excited. Of course, I doubted that she had anything bad to say about the guy. Why would she? Derek was the most popular boy in elementary and middle school, and in high school, he was an all-star athlete, handsome and intelligent, and part of the homecoming court. He may have been Jessica’s escort at homecoming, but to me, he was a part of a childhood memory that I couldn’t shake off. She had no idea how I considered Derek of being nothing but a bully.

I recounted to Jessica about an afternoon back in the 6th grade. I was part of a group of classmates working on some kind of project, and Derek was chosen as the “leader” of our group. I don’t remember what the project was about and what exactly I was doing, but I was working on something quietly on my own while listening to Derek and some others in the group who were talking.

Derek was having a discussion with a few other boys and the conversation had nothing to do with the project but rather about girls in our class. Derek apparently had very strong feelings of who were pretty and those who weren’t. When you hear the most popular boy in the 6th-grade rate your looks in front of others, and goes on to label you as “not pretty enough” you just don’t forget hearing that conversation.

“Well, we all know that Julie won’t get married,” Derek exclaimed, “She is too fat and ugly for anyone to want to marry her.”

I remember clearly, at that moment when my 12-year-old self just wanted to disappear. I was sitting there at a table only feet away from Derek when he announced this to everyone. His cruelty towards me didn’t seem to phase him a bit, and he said it out loud in front of me as if I was invisible. I was left sitting there alone the remainder of the time until the bell rang, red-faced, holding back tears, looking down at the paper I had been writing on, pretending to have not heard a word of what Derek said. I was embarrassed and afraid to say anything that would bring more attention to myself, so I sat there in silence. No one sitting near me said a word in my defense, nor did they bother to speak to me.

Why I chose to tell Jessica this story, I really don’t know. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel sorry for me. Maybe it was because I wanted to show her another side of her “long lost friend” or maybe I felt it was about time to give my 12-year-old self a voice after all these years.

After a moment of silence on the other end of the line, Jessica responded.

“Julie, that is just horrible,” Jessica carried on the phone, “I’m really sorry to hear that Derek was so mean to you. I had no idea he was that way! You should really talk to him and tell him how he made you feel!”

I laughed out loud at Jessica’s response and went on to tell her that I doubted if he even remembered me. I had seen him a number of times around the workplace because he was an attorney, and I knew people who had worked with him, and I had seen him at a number of Christmas parties in which there were no indications from him that he knew the slightest idea of who I was. I even went out of my way to throw him a dirty look or two, but only the women he had on his arm ever saw me do this, and I’m sure I left them wondering. Even after a few drinks, did I have have the nerve to walk up to him and tell him what he had said to me, and if he did remember who I was, I really didn’t want him to give him the satisfaction knowing that his words still apparently effected me after all those years.

“You know Julie,” Jessica responded, “the funny thing is, Derek never got married. He told me that he regrets never finding the right girl to spend his life with, and he really seemed sincere about that.”

Jessica and I then spoke a laughed about the irony of it all for a moment, until our conversation soon went back to the subject of the reunion and it’s ongoing preparations. I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t get a little satisfaction on knowing that Derek, the “foxiest” boy in the 6th grade had yet to find his “beautiful” wife. He seemed to have everything going for him. Even with the great career, intelligence and looks he was still “missing” something. Interestingly enough, he somehow still managed to build a boulder of self-esteem issues and insecurities which I chose to carry and endure for the most part of my young life. How can one opinion of a 12-year-old boy be so destructive? Why did I allow that to happen and why did it still upset me?

When I look back, I remember the other men that have walked in and out of my life with the same destructive pattern. I married my first real boyfriend at the age of 19. I was in love, but apparently didn’t know what I was doing, nor did I know the man that I married very well. My first love turned out to be an abusive man, both mentally, verbally and sometimes turned physical. Anything that went wrong in the relationship was always my fault. No matter, what I said, or did, in his eyes, it seemed I was never “good enough”. I found myself hiding and covering his behavior from friends and loved ones, always believing that I was at fault for every outburst of his Dr. Jekel/Dr. Hyde behavior.

In the words of my ex-husband, I would be “beautiful” if I could only “lose 20 pounds”. However, when I did lose the weight, it only caused more speculations as to why I was bettering myself, and I was immediately accused of cheating on him. Of course, I wasn’t the one cheating and after going to marriage counseling (which was the greatest decision of my life, even if it meant going alone), it was discovered that he had been meeting a multitude of other women via the internet.

Once the ex-husband became the ex-husband, I remained single for a year before I started dating again. I never really dated anyone before my first husband who I had been married to for 12 long years, so nothing really prepared me for what I was stepping into. Still, with that being said, living single proved to be a true gift to me. I learned my worth, and how to forgive myself for staying in an unhealthy marriage for so long. Along with the guilt of exposing my own two young children to all of the madness, there is a lot a self-forgiving that needed to be done. I also had to learn acceptance of who I was. I needed to truly love and accept the person I was before I could find anyone else. Fortunately, from the dark fathom sea of “available fish” out there, I got lucky and eventually met someone who loved me for who I was.

Perhaps all this 6th-grade drama should now be considered as only water under the bridge. It may be time to forgive that 12-year-old boy bully. Today, his picture came up on my “People I May Know” feed on Facebook. As I look through his social media feed on his Facebook page, I find mostly just photos of his dog. As a dog lover myself, how can I hold a grudge on anyone who loves his dog? Not only do I have a dog, but I also have a loving husband, great kids, and even a beautiful grandchild. I’m sure grown-up Derek has had his own successes and loves to be thankful for, and who am I to determine or question what he deserves in life? I’m no longer that 12-year-old girl who is looking for his approval, and there is no room in my life for resentment towards him or anyone else. But, yes-karma can be a bitch, and ugly, but life is beautiful.