High school and gym class and swimsuits, oh my~

Want to deal a cruel fate to a self-conscious high school girl?  Schedule her for gym class first period... and require her to take a swimming unit.  

Want to double down?  Make her stand poolside in her bathing suit in a line with other girls, and put windows EVERYWHERE around the pool.  Make it inviting for students in the courtyard outside and in the gymnasium above to peer (and leer) inside.  

Want to break her bank?  Make the attendance line alphabetical so that Derby stands next to Douglas.

Make her stand next to Kelly Derby.

WOW!

Kelly Derby was God’s perfect form.  I’m pretty sure that Kelly Derby in a bathing suit was on the list of Top 100 Things You Should See Before You Die.  I mean, at the time, Kelly Derby in a bathing suit made me WANT to die, but I still appreciated (and hated) the reality. 

She was stunning. 

Me? I looked like a tongue depressor next to Kelly Derby.  In all honesty, I looked like a tongue depressor anywhere, but especially next to Kelly Derby, and there was no place to hide.  Gawkers looked through the windows from the basketball courts above and the courtyard outside.  

God, I hated Kelly Derby in those moments, because I wanted to be her so much.

The power that girl had!

What did I have?

I actually had a diversion. I should have realized what I realize now: no pair of those eyes were on me.  I should have taken comfort in the fact that Kelly Derby was the star of that show. I should have been grateful for the space of not being watched so that I could just be... me.  I didn't have to think about impressing anyone or being anything.  I had some time to be clumsy and awkward and silly and embarrassing, because honestly, no one was expecting me to be sexy and well-poised and perfect.

How I wish I had thought of it that way, but I didn’t.  I was too busy being devastated how I was being seen in relation to this stunning girl.

My senior year in high school, my English teacher stopped me one day on the way out of class.  We had been reading Sister Carrie, and the book spends time talking about Carrie's "simple beauty," which, let's face it, is another way of saying, she was a tongue depressor. Anyway, he said to me, "I'm so glad you never thought you were beautiful."  And I thought at the time, What kind of comment is that?!  


Simple had its advantage.