Kathryn Magendie (18 page)

SEVENTEEN

It was well into summer, and the days weren’t as hot as I thought they’d be. Sweetie said the mountains always had just right weather. I didn’t sweat as I did in other places I’d lived, like
Georgia
,
Florida
, and
Louisiana
. Way down south, the air was so thick and wet, I couldn’t breathe right, and had to take in little bits of air so I wouldn’t feel as if I was drowning. Sometimes it’d get so hot, I’d have to stay inside with glass after glass of lemon-iced tea. Back then, I’d loved staying inside and watching television all day.

The cat lady said we were having a cooler summer than usual, and we had better enjoy it. In the spring we’d had what she called a Blackberry Winter, when all the blackberry blooms were out and a late frost sneaked through. Zemry, Sweetie, and the cat lady seemed to know things about weather that I didn’t unless I watched a weather report. I wanted to ask Father what he thought about that in his scientific mind, but I never did.

Some places Sweetie and I explored on the mountain were so thick with trees and bushes, that if it rained gentle enough, I didn’t know it at first. I’d sit in the shade and hear the pattering as it hit the leaves and wait for it to reach my face. The creek water was cool, and just right for sitting by and eating a picnic lunch, and that’s just what Sweetie and I did many times.

My thirteenth birthday was a few weeks away and I had been feeling restless. I couldn’t sleep right. Even with the cool breeze, I was too hot. I’d throw off the covers, then I’d get cold, and put them back on. I had nightmares about falling off the ridge and the ghost boy that Sweetie called a haint taking me away from my family, or a bear ripping my face open, or that I died and couldn’t find Grandmother Rosetta. I dreamed other people died—my parents, Sweetie, Peter. I couldn’t stand it.

To make things worse, Mother had taken me to the store to buy my first bra and I hated how it pinched. Sweetie had laughed at it, and that made me itchy-hot mad. She had nothing to put in a bra and said she was glad about it, but mine seemed to grow overnight. I’d picked out a blue bra and a white one. The saleslady had measured me while I stood with my face burning.

After a week of all that weirdness, I woke up feeling fat and cranky, and I had a pimple rearing up out of my forehead and another on my chin. My stomach hurt, my legs hurt, and my head hurt. I moped around the breakfast table, crabby as can be. My new breasts were sore and the bra mashed them. After breakfast, I went to the bathroom, and while I peed, I looked at my panties. Blood. It had happened to me. I didn’t want it to, but there it was. Bright red against my white cotton underwear. I took them off, careful not to get any nasty blood on my leg. I stood half-naked at the sink and scrubbed at the red, watching the blood go from red to pink and then finally run clear. Down the drain it went, away from me.

There was more. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped my leg, wondered how much of it would come out. I ran a tub of hot water, and climbed in. After the water turned lukewarm, I turned on the hot, and laid my head against the faucet. I stayed in there long enough for Mother to knock on the door to see what I was up to.

“I’m taking a bath, Mother.”

“In the morning? And for this long?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, you usually take off to the mountain and bathe when you get back, before dinner.”

“Well, today is different. Why can’t I do something different? Why do you care?” I knew sassing her would get me in trouble, but the crabby feeling took over. “Can’t I have some privacy around here?”

“Are you sick? You’ve been acting strangely.”

“I’m not sick. I’m . . . just . . . it’s nothing.”

She didn’t say anything back, at first; I thought she left. Then she said, “Dry off and come see me in my bedroom.”

“Yes Ma’am.” I stepped out of the tub, toweled off. I’d read the books Mother had given me, but I still felt weird. I wadded up some toilet paper and stuffed it between my legs. After pulling on clean panties, I pushed the wad in as far as I could to stop the flow. I stared at myself in the mirror and didn’t see anything different. But behind my eyes, I was different.

In my parent’s room, my mother sat on her bed with a bag beside her. She patted the bedspread and I carefully sat next to her, hoping nothing gooshed out.

“Well, it’s happened, hasn’t it?”

“What?” I didn’t want to say it. I was too embarrassed.

“Your monthly period. I knew something was up.”

I shrugged.

“It’s earlier than I had mine. I was fourteen. But, my sister, well, she was early with everything. Had more trouble out of that girl.” She eyed me. “But, I know you won’t be like her, will you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hardly know Aunt Beth.”

“Who does? She lives in
Paris
and  . . . oh never mind.” She handed me the bag. “I trust you know what to do? You read the books I gave you?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Read them again.”

“Yes Ma’am.” I stood up and there was a gush between my legs. I squeezed my legs together.

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“You’re a young woman now. And certain responsibilities come with being a young woman. I want you to think about that. Now, go get fixed up.” She waved me away.

I grabbed the bag, went to the door, and stopped with my hand on the knob. “How did you know?”

“Mothers know these things. At least some of them do. Be glad you didn’t have
my
mother. She never told me a thing about anything. I had to find out about life and men and womanly happenings all on my own. It was excruciating. That’s why I gave you the books ahead of time. So you wouldn’t be afraid. My mother made it into something dirty. I don’t want you to see any of this as dirty. It’s not.” She looked at me. “Okay?”

“Okay.” I turned the knob, ready to make my escape.

“Melissa?”

I didn’t bother to hide my sigh or to turn back around to her. “Yes Ma’am.”

“You’ve gotten taller, and thinner. I don’t want you to think I haven’t noticed how you’ve grown and how pretty you look.”

I turned to face her.

She picked at her bedspread. I all of a sudden noticed that her hair, which usually looked perfect, was untidy, and her face was flushed. She didn’t even have her stockings on yet. She stared at the squares she made with her finger on the bedspread. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve grown used to your hair. It becomes you. I’ve just been stubborn about it.”

“You okay, Mother?”

She brushed back her hair, looked at me. “Your father. He’s been acting strange, don’t you think?”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, he’s been, well, distracted.”

“He’s working on his novels. Like he always does, isn’t he? I mean . . . ” I tried to think about how Father had been acting, but I hadn’t been paying much attention to him. “Maybe he misses Nonna.”

She raised her eyebrows in a way that said
oh, I’m so glad you finally admit your Grandmother Rosetta is gone
.

I looked at her in a way that said
don’t talk about it, please, don’t talk about Nonna to me
.

“Yes. I know he misses her, but it’s more than that. He bought a new aftershave. And some new shirts that he’s never worn before. The kind he said he hated. And those boots. Why would he wear boots like that? Teenager kind of boots?” Her eyes were red-rimmed and her lashes wet. “And he’s growing a mustache. He said it makes him look younger.”

“Maybe he’s just trying new things. Like you do with your recipe books.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t much of a smile, and said, “Maybe you’re right. Well.” When she said, “well,” she said it in the
I have things to do
way, with a clap of her hands on her thighs. She stood up. “Go on, get yourself fixed. There’s aspirin in the cabinet. I suggest you take a few of them.” She turned away and fiddled with the pillows, plumping them up and straightening the lace.

“Mother?”

Without looking at me, she waved me away. “Close the door behind you, please, dear.”

I wanted to go to her. Put my arms around her and pat her back. But I didn’t. I left, closed the door behind me, and then hurried to the bathroom with the bag. I hated becoming a young woman, hated the feeling of blood coming out of me there. I hated that my breasts were growing. I hated the changes in me that were already either there or fast coming. I wanted things to always stay as they were, as they had been before Grandmother died and before blood flowed and before my body changed.

Inside the bag was a box. I sighed, opened the box, took out a pad, and fiddled with it until it was fixed right to my panties. I’d seen the commercials for tampons, and though I’d thought it was gross, I wished I had those. As I walked, the thick pad was like I wore a little saddle. I swallowed the aspirin, and put on a pair of my old baggy red pedal pushers, just in case. Over that I wore Peter’s button-down shirt, long enough to reach past my behind, so no one could see any bulge.

On the way to Tablet Rock, I almost turned around and went home. Sweetie was already there with her back against the poplar. Her legs were straight out in front of her, and she had her head back, looking up at the sky. I flopped down next to her without saying anything. She said, “How many times that makes me not late!” She grinned.

I shrugged.

After a while she said, “You sure a quiet one today.”

I finally told Sweetie about all the changes. I wanted to talk to a friend about them, wanted her to say,
Oh, I know! The same things happened to me and I hate it
.

She looked at me with her eyes big and round. “That happening to you right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I am willing it not to happen to me.” She nodded towards my chest. “I don’t want them titties bound up like that, either.”

“Don’t call them that,” I said. “That’s
gross
.”

“Well, them teats then.”

“They’re
breasts
. Girls have
breasts
, not what you said.”

“Animals have teats, and they don’t be worried about what I call them.”

“We are
humans
. That’s why we
evolved
and they didn’t, so we can call things by their
proper
names.”

“Whatever you call them, and that other stuff, I
will not
get that disease.”

“It’s not a
disease
. God, Sweetie!”

Sweetie crossed her arms over her chest. “Willing it all away.”

“You can’t do that. You can’t force natural orders of things to happen or not happen.”

“Huh. Maybe I can. Maybe this magic I got will make it where I don’t got to do anything I don’t want to.” She raised up an eyebrow and pointed to my crotch. “Especially that.”

I rolled my eyes and stood up. “I’m going home. I don’t feel well.”

“It’s that stuff. Makes a body ornery and strange.”

“I’ll see you later.” Right then, she looked like a little girl to me.

She asked, “We’re still like we was, right? I didn’t mean to speak so sharp. Just don’t think sometimes, I reckon.”