An Old Story About a Young Girl

Originally published December 1, 2024

A little bit of background: I wasn’t having a very good time my senior year of high school.

I was taking a creative writing class and the prompt was something along the lines of “write a story about you saving yourself.” Something like that. At this point in the year, I was at my worst, and it showed through everything I wrote. I’m thankful Mrs. Turner let me write and write and write and never gave anyone a concerned phone call. I just needed to write it out. Anyway, this is one of the short stories I kept in my own drive from that class years later because it means a little something to me. This was written long ago, the characters long gone and the books long finished, but for old time’s sake, I wanted to share. It’s not my best work, but it’s my favorite. When I read it, I remember that things get better. I remember that this isn’t how I live my life anymore. This is all behind me.

Mandela Martinez doesn’t want to do anything. She does not want to read, write, paint, or work. She doesn’t want to wash her hair or her face. Mandela Martinez haphazardly hides these little-known facts; in an effort to keep her hair orderly for as long as possible, she straightened it. For her, Mandela can roll out of bed without so much as a glance at her hair; it’s already done. However, the compliments from those around her suggest that she is believed to have taken an extra level of effort to her appearance, hiding her apathy. It’ll stay like this for about a week until Mandela’s hair inevitably reaches a level of filth only the dirtiest of local fast food deep fryers can ever possibly reach. Then, Mandela will wash her hair, and it’s this first shower in three days that makes Mandela feel like she is on top of the world. She will have a sudden urge to fix her life. She will make her bed and vacuum her bedroom. She will clean her cat’s litter box and take her dog for a walk outside. She will clear everything off her desk. Then, she will open her eclectic journal of drawings and thoughts and paintings and cutouts. She will take the closest mechanical pencil she can find, and she’ll begin to draw. She’ll draw a little mushroom, doodle some flowers, and replicate the same cartoon elephant she’s known how to draw since the seventh grade. 

Then she’ll remember she doesn’t know how to draw anything else. She’ll stare at the 3/4ths blank paper. and she’ll want to stop. She’ll close her cluttered journal of bad drawings, empty thoughts, messy paintings, and rigid cutouts. She’ll open her dying laptop that lacks sufficient storage. She’ll stare at the blank document that should have been turned in a week ago. And another document. And another. And another. Then Mandela Martinez will crawl back into bed, and watch a video diary. She’ll watch a video diary of a girl somewhere on another coast, or in another country. She’ll watch this girl go on coffee and target runs and look good doing it. She will watch in awe as this girl goes to college, studies, does her work, goes to the gym, makes money, goes shopping, reads books, has friends. She will watch this girl and every other girl of the same character for hours on end until suddenly the sun is down and dinner is ready. Then Mandela Martinez will hobble down her stairs, dodging the pile of things outside her door she was supposed to take down with her days ago. And she’ll eat. Then she’ll wash the dishes. Then she’ll remind her parents she loves them and she’ll go to bed. Just to do it all again. 

Until she sees Sunny. 

Mandela Martinez has plenty of friends. Friends she loves to see every day at school and occasionally outside of it. She has never had good friends before, and now she has maybe 4 or 5. That’s plenty for her. And she has her family. She will always have her family. But Sunny. Sunny is different. His name in itself is a testament to the quality of his soul. He is sunshine, personified. When Sunny is around, Mandela feels completely normal. She feels like Mandela. Sunny washes away Mandela’s problems like the real sun washes away any feelings of sorrow or dread (unless Sunny is her problem, which is usually never). Sunny made her feel whole just as her family did, and joyous just as her friends did. But no one made her feel as light as Sunny did. But no matter how much love Sunny filled her with, Mandela longed for the day when she didn’t need Sunny in order to feel like Mandela.

She will learn how to do this, eventually- but first, she meets Lilly. Lilly is what Mandela needs. She will teach her, guide her. She will show Mandela the possibilities of life. She will show her how to wash her face every morning, and then every night, until suddenly Mandela moves like water down a river, taking care of her God-given skin twice a day, purely out of habit. Lilly will show her the pleasure of being well enough to take care of her hair, never needing to apply more damage to her curls again. She will guide Mandela through her schoolwork until Mandela is looking at documents decorated with words, ready for grading. Lilly will reteach her how to read, and slowly but surely, Mandela will be able to pick up a book without it being a chore, but with it being a chosen world Mandela can retreat to at any given time. She will put the pen in Mandela’s hand, guiding her like a walking Oxford dictionary, showing her how to write once more.  

But first, Lilly will allow Mandela to feel. She will let her live in her slump without pushing, but with support. She will allow Mandela Martinez to feel like the current Mandela Martinez. Because soon, Mandela will move past the apathy she has been feeling for so long, and she will be the Mandela Martinez she aspires to be. She will be the Mandela she is when she’s with Sunny. She will be that Mandela Martinez always, until the days when she needs to rest. And she will allow herself to rest. She will learn to rely not just on Sunny and Lilly, but on her family, her friends, and herself. She will reach out to her support system, rather than appear to be okay in the faces of those who love her. She will be okay in the faces of those who love her. Mandela Martinez will be okay. 

With love, Willianny