23.05.12

The year I was 12 was the last of my youth.

Boys didn’t really interest me. I hadn’t yet discovered my parents’ infusion closet — a conduit to boys. I still played catch and skateboarded with the more kids on the street most nights after school.

But teenagedom was lurking around the corner, scoping me out. It was waiting and waiting, expiring of boredom in that teenage way.

I had noticed that other girls at school had their ears pierced. One wonderful girl, Karina, had a row of earrings running up one ear. I wanted some of my own. My mother said I had to tarry until I got my period.

I had also noticed that Karina’s calves were smooth. She was blond, like me. The hairs on both our legs were portable and baby-fine. But herd animals have antenna for even subtle changes and we’d all picked up on the interchange moments after she walked into class.

I needed to shave my legs too.

Again, my nurse said, wait till you get your period.

Source: Toronto Star

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