Best of Metazen: Pretty by Christopher Allen
Naming her baby Pretty had turned out to be less than prophetic. Pretty had the same dim eyes, ashen hair and vitamin-deficient pallor as her mother. Homely, sickly, dowdy—yes. Pretty—no. There really had been something in the water, people said. Lead probably. Or maybe some of those Erin-Brockovich chemicals. No one called Pretty pretty—except Pretty’s mother, Bonita.
“Pretty!” Bonita yelped through crooked, gritted teeth. She looked around at all the mean faces on the train station platform. “Come back here. Right . . . now.”
Pretty did as Pretty was told.
“People are watching you, Pretty. Don’t you attract attention to us. They’ll laugh.”
Pretty scooted behind her mother’s beige pantsuit and considered her options, tapping her left foot on slick tile. She hated it when the other children at school teased her and called her goony butt and zombie goon and goony glasses (always a goon), but she really, really, really wanted to show the world—or at least the world on the platform—the new steps she’d learned at school today.
Bonita pushed her plastic ovals back up her nose and checked her digital Casio one more time. The train was three minutes late again, and Pretty was restless as a squirrel. “Set-tle down, Pretty.”
“But, Mama!”
“Not here. You have no idea—” Bonita saw her own bloodless face in her daughter’s glasses. The world pooh-poohed mousy women; her ex-husband certainly had. “People can be so ugly, Pretty.”
The child melted back behind her mother’s beige, but just seconds later she dared to peek out at the evil onlookers. To her surprise, an elegant, young businessman in a long, black coat was smiling at her. No, wait, Pretty thought. He was dancing with his eyes.
Pretty wiggled her head.
“Set-tle down.”
At that moment, the businessman leapt into the air and landed next to Bonita in a perfect, grand plie.
“Oh my,” Bonita said and tightened her hold on Pretty’s arm.
Bystanders clapped and snorted. An ancient woman with a gloriously goitrous neck did the robot over to Pretty and shouted, “Go on, girl.”
Pretty pushed her own plastic ovals an inch up her nose, dumbly begging her mother for freedom. She was itchy to get jiggy with it.
From the left a plump goth girl vamped the length of the platform; from the right a beauty queen tumbled tiara over high-heels. A middle-aged woman with her hair-net and shopping did the bump with a Cadbury vending machine. Candy rained into the slot below.
Pretty wrenched free and spun onto stage as her mama yelled, “Get back here!” But Pretty just stuck out her lip, then her hip. She swished and she galloped; she tapped like an Egyptian. She twirled and took flight as the goth girl stabbed a hand in the air and yelled “Rock on, bitch!” The businessman flashed a perfect-ten card for her perfect-ten landing. Pretty giggled and swayed. Step ball change. A gaggle of old women thrummed on their walkers, nodding to the beat of Pretty’s sassy new grind.
“Pretty!” Bonita growled.
“Pretty!” someone shouted from far down the platform. “Pretty!” filled the tunnel as the train came in.
“Hear that, Mama? They called me pretty.”
Christopher Allen: I’m fascinated by people. I need to know everything about them…as long as they’re strangers. “Pretty” and her mother were standing next to me on the train platform one morning last year. The details that attracted me to this pair were their matching, old-fashioned plastic glasses and the mother’s vise-grip hold on the child’s hand. The more I stared at them—it’s perfectly unperverted here in Germany to gawk at people as if they’e animals in a zoo—the more I realized that this mother had constructed, and was now constraining, a carbon-copy daughter/self. I wanted to give my “Pretty” more: a world—or at least a train platform—aching for her to bust a groove.
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Christopher Allen, a native of Tennessee, lives in Munich, Germany where he teaches English. His stories have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times, Tough People, Gathering: Writers of Williamson County, Ruthless Peoples Magazine and Flash Fire 500, among others. He writes about his travels at www.imustbeoff.blogspot.com.
© 2010, Metazen. All rights reserved.
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Loved this piece! it made me smile… All in all it was pretty damn good!
)
A splash of loveliness amid the po-faced commuting masses. I’m thrilled this story has been rocking the boards at Metazen.
What this brought our for me is the desire I think we all have to let our own “Pretty” dance in the face of judgement. As always, Chris hasn’t wasted any words or sentimentality in getting the story across. I liked the story about the story almost as much
A pretty good story. This is just great. An everyday situation which I probably hadn´t noticed at all; very well observed and formed into some lines of loveliness.
Behold the power of dancing and twirling with abandon! Who doesn’t want to be called Pretty? Reminds me of a Starbucks moment when a KC and the Sunshine Band song had everyone getting a little ‘jiggy’ waiting for their latte! Kudos!
Great Piece. I think there are times we all want to just break out into a dance and show ourselves off to the world Pretty or Not. And hopefully the music within in us is powerful enough to let us break free from the gripping echos of others telling us we’re not PRETTY ENOUGH to be part of the world. (or a train station platform in some cases.)
Go Pretty!!!
Very well written. “But Pretty just stuck out her lip, then her hip. She swished and she galloped; she tapped like an Egyptian.” Fantastic visual with a lot of attitude!
~RR
The choreographed structure of the scene and story give the reader a lot to imagine. It seems that every day we can decide to either dance, or hold on, and that either way is fine.
“Pretty” touched my soul and my inner self that wants to be accepted and pretty.
Although I have been on a train platform very few times in my life, “Pretty” illustrates a contrast of parental protection and love that is demonstrated in many public places. Almost all people may have seen this contrast in others, however, we may not so easily see in ourselves. This story reminds me that all life is enriched when a community, of any size, encourages limitations be overshowed by happiness and/or innate talent.
Reading this, I am transported to that platform where Pretty is able to show us that life is all about letting go and taking chances. Very enjoyable reading.
Pretty is the girl I wanted to be, but was too Scottish and frigid to try. Thank you for opening a tortured wound into my past with this delightful flash.
I think everyone has a Pretty inside. This piece takes her out of all those secret places and puts her on a stage where she can be shared and appreciated.
Love, love, love this story!
Rock on and keep writing, Mr. Allen
This piece leaves such a profound impression. Even the “pretty” ones often times feel like Pretty!!!!! But the world doesn’t see that and judges their degree of happiness by the adjective on the outside. Keep on writing on!
Nice story. Thanks for the read.
Nice work, Chris. Great characterizations.
You’re all pretty.
Nice work, Chris. Wow.
[...] Talk about three stories Metazen has published. “Pretty” is a story by Christopher Allen. I read one story a week to my girlfriend when she’s [...]