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Symphony Number 9. Unconventional choice but it will do for the job today.
So tell me, am I beautiful now?
They say that beauty is only skin deep, ugly goes all the way down to the bones, down to your soul.
Comparison breeds inferiority, just like abuse and neglect. But you'd never know these things, would you? They don't teach that in school or in Sunday service. You just find out too late, or sometimes you don’t even get to find out at all.
Am I beautiful now?
I never asked for much, but still less was given. Just enough that I subsist under his shadow, afraid to step anywhere close to the world's harsh light. They call me Regulus as the representation of a star, a star that could have been great, could have been the brightest if it weren’t eclipsed, if only it wasn’t always overshadowed by something bigger, something brighter. Funny because that’s what my brother is, he answers by the name Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky, the star that people always see, always romanticizes.
How shallow.
Am I beautiful now?
I think I was about five when I learned the meaning of the word envy. It was Sirius’ seventh birthday. He looked like a prince in his pristine white robes. Everyone adored him and gave him gifts of all kinds. Mom said that the seventh birthday is like the seventeenth―a debut. It needs to be special and therefore Sirius had three cakes on his grand day.
It's ironic how I didn’t have any on mine.
Today, Sirius turns seventeen. With a razor-sharp knife, I cut his cake carefully― give him and our special guest a slice.
Mom, am I beautiful now?
Sirius was Snow White, the fairest of them all. He was Alice and the world is his wonderland. He was Rapunzel with his long river of hair flowing to capture everyone's hearts. He is Odette in this pitiful swan lake. I am only Cinderella. No. I am the ugly duckling waiting for the day that I become a swan. Oh, to be a swan. But alas, it never came.
I wanted to be like Sirius. I wanted to shine. I wanted to be adored. Maybe if I were a little fairer, my face a little rounder, my hair a little longer, my features a little more like his, life would have been a little kinder. Maybe then they would look at me a little longer, like me a little better, love me a little truer, and I would be a little less lonely. Or maybe not.
I used to go through his closet and wear his clothes then wearing Mom's makeup, I would stand in front of the mirror pretending that I was Sirius.
Hello, my love. You are such a darling. Would you walk me home today? A date tomorrow? Of course. Of course. I would wear the scarf and gloves that you gave me. Am I really that pretty?
I thought that I was pretty, almost as pretty as him. I wished that everyone else could also see that. But sadly they couldn’t. No one could. I was just different.
I would take his expensive leather boots and walk all over the house pretending that I’m strolling the park. Then Dad would find me, and he would be oh so mad that he would forget that I was just eleven and my body couldn’t take many beatings from a full-grown man.
"Wipe that stupid makeup off your face, Regulus" he would yell. Some days I would easily comply. I didn’t really like being beaten up. It hurt a lot, as one would expect. It hurt even more when he would pummel me while he was sober; however rare such an occasion was. It felt like he really meant it. It felt like he really hated me.
It was hard to conceal the bruises when Dad threw away Mom’s makeup. She was three years dead by then anyway. I sometimes feel that he blames me for her loss. But then again, in all probability, maybe it was just because I was different.
As time went by, I almost couldn’t feel a thing when his knuckles landed on my jaw so I would just lay there and wait for him to drag me and dunk my swollen face into a bucket full of cold water. I would just stay still holding my breath, my eyes shut under the biting frost, thinking that someday it would all be better. Someday he would accept me. Someday they would no longer look at me differently.
I would wash Sirius' clothes and return them into his closet. Sometimes he would catch me, but he never said a word. I would stay inside his closet and fall asleep.
Today, I am wearing his white dress robes - elegant as a swan.
Dad, am I beautiful now?
Remus is my only friend. He is really nice. I met him at seventh grade. He sat on the chair to my right. He had eyes like gold shining so bright and a smile so warm that it could melt anyone’s heart. It made me really happy when he called me his best friend.
Reggie. I really like that name especially when he says it. I wasn’t different, ugly, and unwanted. The freak Regulus. I wasn’t the unloved child, the one they call “The weird brother”. I wasn’t the shadow under Sirius’ light. I was the ray of sunshine, Reggie. I was free as the wind, Reggie. I was the playful pouring rain, Reggie.
‘Reggie, let’s go to the movies!’. ‘Reggie, I have a new book’. ‘Let’s meet at the park Reggie, my parents are fighting again’. ‘Let’s go try that newly opened cafe, Reggie’.’ You are the best, Reggie’. ‘I don’t say this often, but I’m glad you’re in my life Reggie’. ‘I wish that you were really my brother, Reggie’.
For a moment, I thought that I didn’t need to be anyone else but me. For he appreciated me as I was. He was the only one who ever cared about me and accepted me even if I wasn’t Sirius.
Then he met Sirius.
I didn’t want to introduce him to my brother. I knew that Sirius would steal him away from me, just like he did with Mom and Dad. And I was right.
They started dating during the winter break. He would come over to our house and help set up the Christmas tree. I was happy to see him a lot, but he was always looking at Sirius that I doubt he notice that I was still there.
But right now, both Sirius and Remus are looking at me.
Remus, am I beautiful now?
I don’t know when it was that things changed. Dad no longer beat me up even if I walked through the house in Mom’s old wedding dress or any of his old white robes. He couldn’t. Not anymore. He couldn’t even get up from his bed even if he wanted to.
Maybe it was the alcohol finally taking its toll on him. Maybe it was drugs. I wouldn’t know, wouldn’t care.
He has grown a lot weaker as I grew stronger with every single day. I became more and more beautiful, I believe.
Maybe this is finally me becoming a swan, I thought.
One day, I served him his breakfast but he wouldn’t rise up from his slumber. That is how he died.
Sirius cried. I didn’t.
I was free. Emancipation was oh so sweet. I wore thicker makeup. I wore more expensive boots. I wore nicer clothes. And when I walked the streets, everyone looked at me in awe.
But Remus wouldn’t look at me anymore. His eyes couldn’t be peeled off my brother’s face. Bitterly, I wondered what would happen if I peeled Sirius’ face off instead. I wished that his face was mine. Maybe then Remus would look at me.
Maybe then I would really be the beautiful swan.
I move the fork close to his lips, the icing smearing on his gloss.
Eat.
Sirius spits the cake out, the chocolate falls on the hem of the pristine dress robes I am wearing; his white suit, pristine and oh so lovely just like the swan I am about to be. With a crisp sound, my hand lands on my brother’s peach cheek and lingers there for a moment. I caress it.
Soft. Beautiful. Picturesque.
I wonder how it feels to be under that skin. I wonder how the world would look if I were to see it through those eyes. I wonder if Remus would kiss me too if I called his name with those lips. I wonder if he would spare me a glance if that face was mine. I wonder too late.
Tell me, am I beautiful now?
To be or not to be. It was no longer a question. I have come this far and this is my destiny― to be a swan.
I can’t be the ugly duckling forever. The star that everyone ignores because of the brighter, shinier one. My metamorphosis cannot wait. I cannot be a dancer who practiced all my life and never give my performance. It is long overdue. I have to be a swan. I take the knife and wipe off the icing.
Today I cut my third cake.
The blade reflects the glint in our special guest’s eyes, Remus. My dearest Remus, with eyes shining as bright as golds. Such a pity that I could only find broken glass to reanimate his now lifeless eyes. They look at me and only me; fixed, unmoving and soundless audience, enthralled with my long awaited recital. Sitting cold and silent, waiting for my transformation, Remus.
I turn the knob and the music grows louder. Lovely. Symphony Number 9.
I start to open the beautiful vessel. Careful. Careful. The wrapping is my present.
If he made a sound, I don’t know. All I can hear is Symphony Number 9.
Inch by inch, I make the incisions. I wish I have better tools than this lowly kitchen knife. But it’s almost over. Too late for regrets. I did a good job in keeping his face in one piece anyway. It’s just stained by blood but we can wash that away later, can’t we? And there we have it. A beautiful mask.
The carpet has now turned crimson. It’s quite a mess, but no worries. Dad wouldn’t be here to yell at me “Regulus, clean up!”
I take my prize and fit it over my face. It is still warm, still wet. But who cares? It is my trophy. At last, my transformation is complete.
Behold the swan.
I stand before the mirror and see Sirius’ face staring back at me. A swan at last.
Brother dear, tell me. Am I beautiful now?