Octavia's Obsession

We can indefatigably say, without conviction or fear of persecution from the stone-throwers, the spit-uponers, and the mockers of the world, that there are those things which the individual will, given time and conditioning, cling to with such persistence and readiness as likely to exhaust the very one who wonders why the other does what they do at such extreme degree. Now it is of the principle understanding that these things can be placed, clumped, and classified in one, all-encompassing category: the negative, though the feeling here is that there is not just the negative but the semi-positive. We shall now attempt to clarify the matter in our own way. For the sake of the semi-positive we shall chronicle the pianist, a true virtuoso if there ever was one, so blessed in the field of melodic opulence that he can very nearly enchant the artistically deficient, weaving them in a web of enlightenment with super-fast keystrokes and pulsations. Rachmaninoff anyone? And now comes the point: does not the pianist think only concerning his piano day in and day out? Does he not consider himself less than worthy than what the public holds, and constantly sits in front of the ivory construct in an attempt to perfect his gift? And in so doing, our virtuoso, in many cases, severs himself from family and friends for extended periods of time, all in the name of his piano. Is that not semi-positive? Yes, we, the public, are graced with such magnificence, but what about those that abide within the same walls as our virtuoso?

Of the negative a similar account could be built upon, though we shall entrust that the reader is very much aware of many of them, and shall only make a few brief references: sexual obsession being one, though many an upright person would deny any linking to the former; another, the pre occupance of material accumulation, which is so prevalent among today's society and has become the primary goal of many young persons; and the power-hungry have made themselves and their motives known by contributing to elections and bribing our esteemed politicians. As can be seen, these fascinations run rampant throughout, and as might have been guessed, forms the focal point of this story. Though let it not be assumed that this is the penning of a pianist who struggles with his own self-worth, nor do we wish to tell the story of one who is caught in some sexual vice or the chronicling of global domination. Nay. We shall save those for the others. Yet this story holds proper credence in and of itself, starting at a pivotal juncture in the life of Octavia F. Sinclair, and rightly so. For she is about to discover the secret of beauty! Few would argue the significance of such a discovery. Its ramifications are far reaching and every generation from hitherto onward shall be spared the sight of the beautifully challenged. If one were to take a quick peek outside, they may very well catch a glance of the little ones dancing in the street whilst holding hands and singing joyfully to one another. But before we attempt to reveal this mystery of the ages, we must first come to appreciate and understand the degree with which Octavia longed for beauty.

How can we give an accurate impression of the homeliness of Octavia F. Sinclair without coming off as shallow or vain ourselves? Now, let not the aforementioned statement set you aback, for it is not the intention here to put down poor Octavia, but to raise her up, for she will discover a secret among secrets. The following should therefore be viewed as a necessity, allowing us to walk as she walks, and think as she would think. Perhaps it would do best to give an overview of some of her most noticeable pitfalls in a world where vanity reigns supreme and the insensitive pick and choose to their own delight. Octavia, at the age of 13, doesn't have a perfect set of teeth. She has braces, partially there to correct a jarring over bight, and partially there to correct several spaces in her teeth. A very bad case of acne has found a home on Octavia's skin, not just on her face, mind you, but also on her back, arms, and shoulders. Suffice it to say, sleeveless wear is not an option for Octavia. Also, she possess a certain chubby quality to her arms, neck, and thighs, not so much that a rational individual might call her obese, but enough that some irrational ones might. Let it not be said, however, that there are no positives in the Octavia F. Sinclair equation, because there is. Being of African-American descent, her skin carries with it a certain caramel coloring, which, if it had not been for the acne, many a young person might sit up and take notice; added to this is her hair, which is at a good length, draping down past her shoulders and inspired by charcoal, though not well kept. Hence we have a picture of our protagonist. But we must continue our descent into Octavia F. Sinclair's world whilst building up a sympathy vote for her, for her world is one of great grief and misery.

It is not difficult to imagine the onslaught of degradation one would receive upon slipping into a pair of Octavia's slippers. Certainly she held an absolute disdain for her classmates at times, and a complete shunning of going to school. Catching colds and confessions that the bus had not arrived were frequent excuses of hers. Indeed, her classmates--in particular-- would drive her to the point of no return, resulting in a desire for beauty that was unmatched, unparalleled, one that would so engulf her. Not an hour would pass when she would not reflect on what life would be like if she were one of the beautiful, if she were molded to please the eye. "I only wish to be beautiful in the remarkable sense", she would think. "Is that so wrong?" She did, however, construct creative ways to deal with her wretched state. One night, after a most stinging attack, Octavia lay in bed, unable to sleep. Her heart was the habitation of sorrow that night, and fear of a reprisal of said persecution the next day made her weary concerning school in the morning. It was then that she decided to release herself from said anguish by confronting her tormentor, thus she called out to him by name. These were her exact words..."Despair, why do you torment me so? Are there not others whom thou lovest to torture? Go to them, I pray thee, and leave me be! I have suffered well enough at your despicable hands! Begone from me, and don't you ever come back!" She felt better and slept peacefully therafter. She was, to be sure, a very creative individual. She wrote some, mostly poetry, and read much. Her favorite subject was, of course, English, and she hoped to become a writer someday, but was forever bogged down by her appearance, and that in turn stunted her growth immeasurably.

Then there was to come the time of her sixteenth birthday party. She was oblivious to it at the time, but a momentous blessing was about to overtake her. Intrigue permeated throughout the air, and this intrigue was centered around her late arriving cousin Clarice. Octavia, on the other hand, wasn't concerned about her tardiness, but something altogether different. For you see, Clarice was formerly homely herself, and now looked as though she were a glorious swan or multifaceted peacock. It had been four whole years since the last time they had seen each other, but the transformation of her cousin was one to spur a bevy of astonishment. Surely this can't be the same creature I knew in yesteryears past, she thought. She then thought of the idea of reconstructive surgery, which she later discarded on account that it was far too expensive. This is my cousin Clarice, she muttered. But...how? Finally, after exhausting a plethora of possibilities, Octavia mustered enough courage to engage in dialogue with her fair cousin Clarice. But she could not help but fuddle about on account of her being uncomfortable around her, such was her surpassing beauty.

"So...Clarice...you...look good." Clarice only smiled at her, all the while Octavia couldn't help but notice a supreme air of confidence mingled with vanity emanating from her. This she wanted to possess with a passion.

"And you, Octave", she had to think on this for a bit "...how's your health?"

"Great. I mean, I'm not sick or anything, if that's what you're asking...I umm..." She put her forefinger to her lip and tried to think how she was going to phrase her next question. Clarice interrupted.

"Oh, by the way, happy sixteenth birthday. I apologize for missing the sing-a-long, but mother and I ran into a spat of traffic accidents on the interstate. You know, twisted metal, that sort of thing? There were ambulances and police officers, the highway was backed up for many miles. I thought we'd miss the party complete..."

"Clarice, can we...go talk in the patio?"

"Why...sure."

So they went their way. And all the while Clarice pretended not to know what was vexing her cousin Octavia. Their conversation is as follows:

"How did you do it?" Clarice pretended to be taken aback quite a bit.

"Do what?"

"You know, how did you...get the way you are?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look at you...you're...you're gorgeous. How did you do it. You have to tell me! I'm tired of living like this. I want to be...like you."

Clarice sighed.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so what's the use."

"Try me."

Clarice sighed again.

"Fine...You want to know, I'll tell you. It was...it was by appreciation."

"What?" Octavia couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was half expecting some laborious exposition concerning fairy god mothers or what it was like to be under the knife. Appreciation? What could she possibly be talking about?

"I told you you wouldn't believe me. No use continuing now I guess." Clarice was on her way back to the party when Octavia confronted her.

"No! Wait! I want to hear it."

So Clarice explained to her how destitute she had become in past years; how she envied those who had what she wanted, how she even hated them at times; how the desire for beauty had so become the centerpiece of her heart. Then the thought came to her one day to just appreciate beauty, and those who were beautiful, and she obeyed, and watched as she became beautiful herself.

"And that's how I became who I am today."

"...And all you did was appreciate their...their beauty?"

"That is all I did. Do you believe me, Octave? Please say yes." Octavia hesitated and was downcast for a moment.

"Yes...yes, I believe you", she said. And she lied.

The next several months would be some of the most depressive of Octavia's life. It wasn't so much that things were happening any different than the way they were before, it was just that the despair was beginning to pile up on her. Thoughts of suicide came, and she began to entertain them, thinking that death would be a release next to this pitiful state. She'd dare not air these feelings of inferiority to her parents, feeling all too ashamed to talk about them, these were--after all--her own problems and she would live, or die, with them. Then, one day at school, while walking to her psychology class, she caught sight of a gorgeous young male. It was as if beauty itself had abided within him all those years. In fact, long had beauty incarnate searched through space and time, looking for the right specimen to inhabit, and his mouth was parched. Finally with a sigh he said, "There is none worthy of my dominion", when, lo and behold, he caught site of this young male, and chose him as his vessel, improving upon his beauty some ten thousand fold, this being the creature who now stood before her. All this she thought on as she watched him pass her, slipping away into eternity. She had, for the very first time, appreciated what she saw, and she realized it, because it relieved her.

So she continued in her newfound escapism, and reveled in the fact that despair's hold was loosening on her life. Then, too, she watched as her braces came off and her teeth were straightened. She still had cases of acne, but she began to care less and less about it. Despair was losing and she had reason to celebrate. Her weight, too, became an issue of the past. It no longer bothered her that people mentioned it, in fact, she appeared to be losing those extra pounds. Thus, she graduated from high school and opted to go to her local community college for 2 years. In those days her hair was combed and her acne had went into hiding. She was doing well in school also. Then one day she came across the young man whom she saw in school that fateful day. She was sitting in the library and he came and talked with her. He was very fond of her and even remarked that she was beautiful. She thought on it for a moment and said, "You think so?"

And that was only the beginning of great days to come.