nigara's story: Isabelle

Her name was Isabelle.

Her teachers called her Clara. So did all the other kids in class. Except Jeremy.
He called her The Ugly Duckling.

The duckling nickname bothered her, but only a little. She knew, even though she was only eight, that she was not the prettiest of little girls. Neither was she the smartest, nor the fastest. She was not particularly talented with the recorder, or as great at skipping rope as Josie, or anywhere near good enough at colouring. She knew this.

Unfortunately, so did everyone else.

She was the kid who was last to be picked during sport; the kid who sat alone eating her sandwich under the slide during break times.

She was used to it. So she didn't mind all that much when the other children called her names. On a really happy day, Jeremy would call her Fatty. Sometimes it was Snotface, or Cow.

But Clara was a puzzle to her.
She knew her name was Isabelle. Her mother called her Belle.

"You're a belle, a beauty, Isabelle. That's what you are."
That's what she always said.

She knew she wasn't, but it always made her feel beautiful.

Clara made her feel small. It was as if nobody cared enough to even learn her name, let alone use it.

She was too ordinary, too average, too nothing, to ever be somebody that anybody would remember.

And that was what she was most afraid of. Being ordinary. Because to be ordinary was to be overlooked. People would look at her and see nothing. They would move on to the obnoxious Jeremys and pretty Josies.

She was eight years old and when she was out there, she knew she would never be good enough.

And yet, she could smile.

Because when school was over and she walked out of the gates, her mother was always there waiting to walk her home.
She was no longer Clara, or Fatty.
She was Belle.

Princess.
That's what her daddy called her.
And she knew that's what he saw when he looked at her. Someone special.

Her name was Isabelle.
Her teachers called her Clara,
her classmates called her Duckling.
She wasn't clever or pretty, or even remotely important.

But her mother called her beautiful,
and she was her father's princess.

So she smiled,
because she knew that despite all her shortcomings,
she was loved.