"Perfectly Awful!"            Brace yourselves, NO ONE is killed in this story! It's just a piece I wrote when I had the blues one day.        This short story was inspired by and written in honor of the many female friends I have who deal with the PWS condition and, who I find, have had to deal with a lot more than I ever have to!        Many of them get through life with style, grace and a sense of who they are that is unshakable! Copyright C.W. Cale. Contact me with an e-mail.

"PERFECTLY AWFUL…" By Charles Cale       Someone's head popped over the cubicle wall.       "Still here? It's 5:45! Glenda, go home! You look perfectly awful!" it said.       She sat there stunned. The head was gone, but the words hung there still.       She shut down her workstation and grabbed her keys. The day was draining and the drive home was pure frustration. The cool air behind her front door was a welcome relief.  She kicked off her pumps and scooped up her kitty.  "You hungry Fuzz?  Let's get you fed."         As the big Maine Coon gorged on crunchy cat food, she decided to celebrate the week's end. "A bottle of Port?" she asked her cat.  "But first, I get out of this makeup."        She looked at the pretty young lady staring back at her from the bathroom mirror, but she saw something else.  "Perfectly awful." she said to the reflection. •         The words triggered a memory, herself as a crying little girl sprawled under her bed.  She remembered pressing her hands against her head trying to force the pain out.  The sobbing hurt, her throat stung and she thought her head would never stop pounding.         Her mother, despite her bad knees, managed to get down next to her and work a hand in under the bed frame to stroke her daughter's hair, "Its okay Glennie!  She didn't know!  Please come out."          The wail issuing from under the dust ruffle must have chilled her mother's heart.             "Sweetest, do you know how beautiful I think you are?  Do you?" she sobbed along with her little hurt child.         Glenda could barely hear her mother's voice.  She only heard those other words over and over.  The door to door makeup representative had pulled no punches, "Your daughter's face looks perfectly awful!"          She cried until the dust under the bed made her sneeze.  Through the tears she saw dozens of toys around her.  "Clean your room" had meant push the toys out of sight and over the years she collected quite a haul under here.  She clutched tight to a small hand sewn ragdoll with yellow yarn hair.  Her sobs stopped, but the tears continued to flow silently.         "Glennie?  Can you come out now?" her mother whispered.         Small patent leather shoes scooted out backwards, followed by legs and finally a girl.  She stood, ashamed, in front of her mother.          "My pretty girl, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry about what that mean lady said to you."  She gently held her daughters face up and brushed the hair back in place.  "She was only trying to get more money out of us by selling more makeup.  You know that don't you?"  Then she noticed the dusty doll in her daughter's hand.  "Oh, you found Jenny!  Do you remember when I made her for you?"         "…mommy…am I …ugly?"  The words tore at both their hearts.  Her mother tried to give an answer, but Glenda didn't absorb the words.  She already knew; she was different and different was ugly and ugly was bad.  She was bad, wrong, ‘perfectly awful!'         Then her mother grabbed her face again.  "Did you hear me?  I love you!  You're different and special and life will be hard for you sometimes, but you are in no way ugly!"  She looked into her daughter's eyes.  "You're not listening."         "I'm awful… perfectly awful." a sob escaped her.         Her mother stared thoughtfully, "Let me see Jenny."         "Why?" she handed the doll over.         "Is Jenny ugly?"         "…no."         Her mother picked up a red laundry marker and traced a perfect copy of Glenda's mark on the doll's face.         "NO! DON'T!"         "Ah ah ah!  Now, look!  Did I ruin her?  Is she ugly?"         Glenda smiled, "she's ME!"         "She's a pretty little mirror of my pretty little girl." •         Those memories of her Mother's kind words and actions always brought comfort to Glenda.  She worked cold cream across her face and looked down at Fuzz.  The cat backed away slightly at the sight of Glenda covered in goop.  "BOO!"  Fuzz jumped back. "Oh, C'mon!  It's just me!  You silly cat!"  She began scrubbing away with a washcloth at her chin.  "Yeah, that's us, whole house full of silly cats." she smiled, "Silly Cat!  No one's called me that since college." •         She thought back to her college years; sitting in her new dorm, wearing a thick layer of opaque foundation across her face as her roommate looked through a shelf of Glennie's personal effects. The two girls had established a tentative friendship over lunch and were helping each other split up their limited space.         "I gotta ask, what's up with this doll?"         "Oh," she sighed heavily, "Well, here we go… My Mom made that.  It's supposed to be me actually." She bit her lip nervously.         "She's you? And why the red face?"         "Well, it's a birthmark."         "A birthmark?" She asked.         "Yeahhhh, just like …mine." Glennie explained.         "Oh my God!  That's so cool!" she gently put the doll back.  "That's why you wear such thick makeup?"         "Every day." she pulled her hair back to show the area.         "Every day!  Lemme see…" she reached out, then pulled back.  "oh, I'm sorry!  It's obviously a big deal to you and I'm draggin' it out in the open like a big ox."         "It's not a big deal to me.  Really."         "But you cover it up every day."         "Yeah, well, it's just… easier this way."         "It's easier to cover your face with that thick mask of makeup than to just be yourself?"         She swallowed. "…a lot easier."         "Well, that's perfectly awful!  I mean, that people make it so hard for you to be you."         "Perfectly awful?"         "Yeah, I mean if I were a Calico I wouldn't like it if society made me pretend to be a Persian!"         "I thought you said you are a Persian."         "I meant the CAT!" she laughed, "Don't change the subject you silly cat!  Besides, don't think you're the only one who likes things easier.  Do you know where my family's really from?"         "Well, you said Persia."         "Iraq.  We say Persia!  It's not lying, it's just," she waggled her hand, "…disinformation!"  The girls smiled at each other.          "Don't you think you'd like a break?" Stevie asked.         "A break?"         "From the makeup you silly cat!  We could lock the door if you like and you could just be you.  It's no big deal to me!"         She sighed. "You know something; I could USE a break!  Today has been a bear!"         "Done!  We lock the door and you wash up and I can read my ‘Persian' newspaper!" she unzipped her pack and pulled out a crumpled paper with a beautifully scrolled language.  "Silly Cat," Stevie asked, "Do you think you'd ever get to the point where you'd like to go out on the town without all that heavy makeup?"         "It's… possible." She had removed the heavy makeup and was applying some light powder, "It's just that sometimes the stares can be" she paused, "…perfectly awful."         "You know in my family being true to yourself is one of the most important things you can do.  It's an old ‘Persian' tradition!" she winked. "Oh, look!  That's the real you!  Nice to meet you!  Say, have you ever considered that the stares might be because you're a very pretty little calico!  Hmm, and once we get you used to that idea… we go find some boys and break their hearts!"         Glennie smiled back in the mirror with wide eyed shock, "Stevie, you're awful."         "Yes, Perfectly awful!" Stevie laughed. •         The memories faded as Glenda wandered through her living room and stopped at the piano.  She glanced at a picture of Stevie and herself (wearing light makeup only) arm in arm with two alleged rock stars.  She remembered what was written on the back, "Being "Perfectly Awful" with my best friend!"          Picking up Fuzz she held him high, "Is this better?  Is it?  Do you like the real me better?  Yeah, I do too!"  Uncorking a large bottle of wine she poured herself a small glass and set the bottle out to breathe.  She picked up her glass of Port and relaxed on the couch.  The phone rang.  She knew who it was.         "Hello Lover!" she purred.         "You must really like everybody who has your number!" He laughed.         "Yeah, I'm just crazy for those telemarketers!  How far away are you?"         "Hmmm, what kind of wine are you drinking?"         "Red wine actually."         "Oh, the Port eh?  In that case I'm 10 minutes out with Italian."         "YOU, are perfect!"         "I keep tellin' ya!"         "Shall I dress for dinner?"         "-In as little as possible!"         "Ooooh!"  She purred, "Now THAT'S what I call…"         "Perfectly awful?" he said in a practiced tone.         "Don't dawdle!" she said.         As she was preparing for dinner the phone rang again.  She decided against a smart greeting, "…Hello?  …Mom!  I swear I was just… you too?  Yeah, I know, funny huh?  How am I?  Oh, as always, Perfectly Awful!" she smiled.