MAY_UNIKUM_WEB

SHORT-STORY
The Most Beautiful Girl in the World
Illustrasjon: Freepik // freepik
Tobias Klausen
Editor in Chief
“Mommy, are we there yet?”
“No sweetie, we still got a couple of more hours. Why don’t you try
to sleep a bit more?
“But I’ve already slept SO much! I just want this ride to be over!”
“I know baby, I know, I want to get there too. Practice one of your
songs though, you can never get in enough practice.”
“…Fine.”
But Megan doesn’t start singing, twiddling instead with the seatbelt,
watching the black strip race up and down between her fingertips.
At least that left a few moments of respite for me to breathe, as I
hide an exhausted yawn behind my shielding arm. The freeway
is starting to take its toll on me, and I wish that I would have had
the time to stop for just a single moment to rest. But I couldn’t, we
wouldn’t make the show then.
Instead, to take my mind off sleep’s constant intrusion, I cast the
occasional glance at my daughter, her mind lost in the endless
lights of the night sky, her finger tracking the passing cars, as if
she kept score. I had tried salvaging what was possible of her frilly
hair in a neat little bow, but with each flick of her head, the ribbon
lost its grip, her unruly hair fighting to be released from its strict
constraints. Ever since she was born, I’ve had this irresistible urge
to comb my fingers through it, but as time passed, the growing
adolescence in her prohibited it, now, if I was allowed, it was out
of mercy.
My daughter, my gorgeous little girl.
Why did the other kids tease her so? I could never understand.
What sat next to me, was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid
eyes on. I’ve always blamed it on shyness, Megan was too shy,
hiding behind her enormous glasses, just like she had always
hidden behind my skirt since the very first day of kindergarten.
At least when the other moms asked. But deep down, I blamed
myself, if only Megan could have more than the patched clothes,
tattered schoolbag and the lunchbox marred with advertisements.
Life truly wasn’t fair; Megan was at a disadvantage the moment
she was born. And yet, she never let that stand in her way, forging
her own path forward. I admired that, more than anything in the
whole damn world. This wretched world didn’t deserve someone
like Megan. I didn’t deserve someone like Megan.
Perhaps that’s why I’m doing this, it’s my redemption. I hope Mrs.
McKlusky will understand too. There wasn’t a sliver of malice in
my heart, only love. Not that forgiveness had ever been my top
priority, I can live with whatever filth they throw at me. I can
handle it. I have to.
“Do you think they’ll hear me?” Megan asked.
“Of course they will, in a crowd of millions I would hear you even
if they all screamed! How could they not hear you?”
“But didn’t you tell me you have super hearing, mommy? Do you
know if Isabella has it?”
“The only reason she would not hear you, is if she went deaf right
at that moment. And what’s the chances of that?”
“Hmm, not very high?”
“No, it’s not. Just like I said when you were worried that I would
get hit by a meteorite when you learned about space in school. The
chances are slim.”
And with the mention of space, her gaze trailed off into the galaxies
that were on display, the stars twinkling in her eyes. I would look
towards the stars as well, relishing in their beauty, but lately,
something about the vastness of the cosmic canvas frightened me,
or I simply refused to look at the light, afraid I might be drawn into
its dazzle. Instead, I looked forward.
My phone keeps lighting up and buzzing, the screen flashing “Mrs.
McKlusky”. I curse myself for not putting it on silent mode, but in
case something happened with the venue or booking, I needed to
know. I had always been paranoid that the gods had something
against me, my terrible luck reenforced this sentiment. But not
today, they couldn’t despise me so, robbing me of this. But that’s
what I thought when the doctor gave me the news too…
The GPS sounded a dry, British “Take a left on route 78”, which
startled me, luckily reinvigorating my sleepy stature. Megan’s
face lit up in anticipation, that now we’re closer than ever since
the GPS hadn’t spoken for the last hour and a half. She didn’t read
the remaining time stating “3:17”. And I wouldn’t tell her either.
Sometimes, it’s better to live in a fantastical delusion, than in the
soul-crushing reality.
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