Margo: 3: Average is Good

Margo clomped up the stairs to her bedroom, the wooden steps announcing her whereabouts to the rest of the house.  Her room sat at the west end of the hall, her window perfectly aligned with the sunset.  Margo's favorite way to end a day was to stand in front of the window and watch the parade of colors dip into the horizon.  She imagined it was how God said goodnight to the world.  She liked His style.

Tossing her school books on the floor, Margo flopped on her bed and stared at the ceiling.  What a day.  What a wonderful exciting day.  Margo rolled onto her stomach, feet kicked up behind her, and held her head in her hands.  Her mind was full of one question.  What in the world was she supposed to write about?  It had to be the perfect topic, the perfect story line, the perfect everything.

Hero or heroine?  Adventure?  Mystery?  Margo realized the decision would have to be a calculated one.  Grabbing a notepad and a pen, Margo began a list of all the possibilities.  Romance was definitely out.  Margo had zero frame of reference to even think about writing a romantic story.  She knew any story she came up with would just be a repeat of what she had read in a novel.   Drama and adventure were out too.  She loved reading books that were filled with excitement, but she also knew all great stories had a ring of truth to them.  There was no way she could pull off exciting.  Embarrassment and humiliation, yes; excitement, no. 

Margo sighed.  This might be harder than she thought.  Her mind was full of ideas.  Her creativity in good working order.  Once she settled on a storyline and topic she was confident she could weave a web of blissful imagination.  She had to capture the judges' attention with the first few lines and make them want to read more, to become lost in her tale of fiction. 

The sun began to cast its rays into her room creating long, warm avenues.  Margo was happy God chose the color gold for sunbeams.  It was such a radiant glorious color.  Eyes dancing around her room, Margo began to look at her surroundings.  Her room had the usual posters of the current celebrity, awards received from grades long since completed, and books and diaries piled into corners.  Furniture handed down throughout the years filled wall space: a chest of drawers, a vanity with a large oval mirror, a wooden hope chest, mostly empty but filled with timid hope.  It was familiar and comforting.  And dull.  Margo frowned.

Rising from her perch, Margo went and sat at the vanity and stared at herself.  She was rather dull too, she thought.  But she certainly didn't want to be.  She blinked at herself and began to take inventory.  Her hair color was brown.  A decent enough color for it to be, she supposed.  It could always be worse.  Thin and stick straight, her hair fell a bit past her shoulders.  It was long enough to pull into a low ponytail, her style of choice.  Eye color, brown.  Again, it was a safe color.  Her forehead was flat and wide, her hairline starting a little higher than seemed natural.  Margo pursed her lips and gave her hairline a good hard stare.  What was it so afraid of that it had to run away from the rest of her face?  Hmm? 

Her nose was thankfully small, pert, and freckle-free.  She wrinkled it at herself in the mirror and was comforted when it returned to its steady consistent state on her face.  Noses were dependable like that.  God loves noses.  The only improvement on her nose would have been if her cheekbones weren't so lacking.  Flat and shallow, they were practically invisible.   Margo was thin with no extra flesh to fill in her cheeks, but she often imagined rosy plump cheeks.  She wondered if gaining weight would help.  Margo made a mental note to remind Mama to make her famous Death by Chocolate cake.  Might as well gain weight with deliciousness.

Margo's eyes dropped to her lips and frowned.  Never were seen such poor, thin lips.  Maybe if her mouth wasn't so wide her lips wouldn't seem so narrow.  Bunching her lips together, Margo made a kissy face in the mirror.  Minimal improvement.  And she looked like a duck.  Her classmates didn't need any more help with names to call her and she wasn't about to provide them with a farm animal.  Margo opened her lips and bared her teeth. Vertically, her teeth were straight, nary a snaggle-tooth in sight.  Horizontally, however, they were crowded and tightly packed as though she somehow managed to get more than her fair share.  Her two front teeth and canines were the mighty victors of the dental war, pushing in front of their weaker neighbors.  They reminded her of a cast of characters in a play, each one trying to gain the spotlight.  Her teeth were vain.  Some of them, anyway.

All in all, her face left a lot to be desired, but Margo knew there was more to who she was than just her face.  She had a creative mind, a generous heart, and a quiet spirit.  She pursued peace; keeping her mouth shut in silence rather than being confrontational.  Confrontation was her greatest fear.  She would rather die a thousand deaths than be caught in the middle of conflicting wills.  Admittedly, Margo knew that was the reason she let her peers treat her so rudely.  Rebuking them would be to confront them and that would lead to a discussion.  The discussion part she could handle.  She was sure her vocabulary and creative expression would not fail to perform.  It was the actual speaking of the words that terrified her.  Her "leave me alone!" speech would not be very effective whispered or even worse, said through an avalanche of tears and hiccups.

Margo laid her head down onto her crossed arms and tightly shut her eyes.  Something had to give.  She wanted to be happy and lighthearted all the time, not just in the safety of her home.  The world was a big place and she wanted to see as much of it as possible.  Her thoughts traveled back to the contest and its accompanying opportunity.  A scholarship to college.  A ticket to a brand new beginning.   A chance to move on, start over, and wash her hands of small minded people who rated worth solely on physical attributes.  Colleges were created for the mind. It sounded like the perfect place for her.

What in the world was she going to write about?  Mrs Thurmond often said the phrase, "Write what you know."  Margo knew average.  Was it possible to write a story about an average life and it be enough to win?

Margo softly laughed out loud.  Wouldn't it be something if the story that won was simply about an ordinary, average day?  Margo grabbed some notebook paper, a pencil, and her favorite dictionary.  If it could be done, it would be done by her.  She finally knew what she would write about.

A commotion downstairs caused Margo to jump from her chair and race to the stairs.  Margo could see her mother standing at the opened front door.  She was on a very loud and very colorful tirade, her apron wielded in her hand like a limp sword.  Margo shook her head and said a prayer.  Lord bless whomever was on the receiving end.  If words could kill, her Mama needed to be rounded up and carted off to prison for the awful slaughter currently unfolding on their front lawn.