I remember the first time I bit my tongue.
My best friend’s cousin told me that I was a girl, like I didn’t know my place in the world. And in being so, I wasn’t good enough to play with them, even though I had so many scratch marks and bruises from all the games I’d beat him at. – The smugness in his voice still follows me sometimes.
I remember the first time I was truly angry at my mother.
My first period had marked my transgression into womanhood. Pain and despair filled my voice and trembling lips and hands begged my mother to fix it. But she just stood there, eating her Mac & Cheese, watching her favorite telenovela, not moved at all by the tears pouring from my eyes. – There’s resentment lingering in me, now still.
I remember the first time I was misjudged by my lack of motivation.
Senior year was the only time I showed a real commitment to improving my grades – college was a heartbeat away. My math teacher disagreed. I scored higher than my best friend because I studied my ass off, but she deemed me a cheater because I had helped my friend and she couldn’t believe that out of the two of us, I was actually the one to solve the problem. I cried myself to sleep that night. – After that, not good enough became my favorite mantra.
I remember the first time I stopped calling my best friend just that, * best *.
Because she refused to admit she cheated and still, I had to suffer the consequences. – My trust in people was never the same.
I remember the first time I looked down on myself in the mirror.
I was 13. My first crush asked me if I practiced boxing and in my confusion, he clarified – I had one of those noses. It seeded doubt and I’ve lost some love for myself. – I never got it back.
I remember my grandfather’s anger.
The sharp blade of a swinging ax put a crack in our new house door. My blanket was not thick enough to shield the shouting and the smell of liquor. Dad smiled sadly while mom cleaned his bruised knuckles the next morning; the same bruised knuckles that shattered my bathroom mirror 3 years later. – I never trusted men the same.
I remember the first time I acknowledged my legacy.
My favorite cartoon was playing on TV. Patience running thin over my baby sister shrieking. Seconds slipping. The imprint of tiny fingers on her pink soft cheek, startled both of us into focus. She – blurry green eyes wide open into silence; me – knees quivering into realization. – I’ve never held my hands the same.
I am so heavy with self-restraint, most days I just see the exit sign.
Part time lover... 