Taylor

Taylor III, part II

Jessa Schmidt

OMG, Machtre Yolle invited me to his office after class, I think to myself while I tuck my laptop into my backpack and pack up all my books. I so hope it's about my application for initiate. As I lean over to gather my belongings, my hair falls and dangles crazily about my head until I stand back up and pull it back, applying the red ponytail holder that I normally keep wrapped around my wrist. Don't worry, I wash it. And I never lose it, it's always with me. My mom gave it to me when I was 15. I was freaking out because I finally realized how difficult it is to control my hair. I was having a breakdown, crying in my room and she came in with the little red band and put it on my wrist. She told me that my hair is part of what makes me beautiful. She said nobody else has my hair, and frizzy hair doesn't mean that I don't look pretty. She told me that the band was strictly for my comfort. She told me that I should try to get comfortable with my hair, and the band was just for the times I simply couldn't be. Kind of like a backup plan. I've kept it with me all those years as my backup plan, and now I only wear it to church or formal occasions...or during activities when my hair would be bouncing in my face, like at the gym. I've gotten comfortable with my hair to the point that the band spends ninety percent of its time on my wrist. It's very special to me. And so is my hair. I've been told that I look like a mulatto Merida.

I lift my heavy backpack up onto my shoulder and lean against the long table behind me, waiting for all the students to leave so that Machtre Yolle and I can head upstairs to his office. I watch him in adoration as he gives his salutations and wipes off the dry erase board. Just think of it... A man has come from a planet in a star system 20-something light years away, from a civilization that is far more advanced than our own, from a place where there is one main religion, to teach us mere Earthen students about it at a local university. The courage it must have taken to embark on such a journey! I hope to have that same courage when I go to Loki. I want so much to see what a world looks like from underground, in a giant city. I've seen pictures of the cities underground on that planet. They rival NYC, Tokyo, Dubai, and Salt Lake. They are incredible, and if I do nothing else great in my life, I want to make it to Loki and teach about Earth to Lokan students. But here I am. Waiting in the classroom for a meeting that could potentially lead to my dream.

I want this dream. I need it. I've been overlooked and underestimated by my peers my entire life. It's not all about looks and status for me, but that was usually the case for the people that went out of their way to make sly comments about my hair or my freckles or the fact that I'd never have a boyfriend because I was too, well..."flat". And you know...I was fine with it all up until high school.

I was at my locker when one of the jocks from the football team approached me and started hitting on me. I didn't pay him any mind, even though the change of attention was nice. I just closed the locker and started going about my day. Well, unfortunately, this wasn't the plan for his girlfriend, who marched up and smacked me. I dropped my backpack and covered my mouth in shock. Her boyfriend, the very same one who was trying to get in my pants, began to laugh at me while she clung to him and told me to leave her man alone, with my skinny ass. She yelled in front of everyone that I'd never get anyone on my own, that I would have to drug a guy just to be with me. Honestly, I can say that I got past it, but not over it. I hated myself for a long time until my mother helped me out of that rut. It took time, but I feel more confident. I'm certainly no longer "flat" anymore, now that I put on a few pounds during the last couple of years. I think... I think things will work out for me. I need them to work out for me.

"Ms. Schmidt!" calls the Machtre, snapping me back from my daydream. I tighten my straps and proceed to the aisle and up to the door. He gets up from the desk, straightening out his crisp blue suit, then walks behind me as we make our way to the elevator. I try to tuck my excitement away and treat my initiate application just like a job application. Following up is key.