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Girl You'll be a Woman Soon - 2nd in a series by Kim Shelton I tried to focus on the ceiling but the imperious numbers on my alarm clock seemed to push their way through the darkness and dance in my peripheral vision, much like a childhood bully, teasing...no mocking me that the night had only just begun. I could not sleep; the sweet anticipation of 7th grade. No more recess, no more sitting in the same class all day and no more little boys! I was going to be in JUNIOR HIGH!!! I couldn't wait! I dreamed of the new friends that I would make, the dances, the parties, learning about politics and literature, and of course the older boys! As soon as the summer bell hit ending 6th grade, it was as if I had magically become a teen! No more dolls or building tree houses! This was the big time. I had a great summer planned! I can still remember every detail of that summer. In fact that summer was the beginning of when I would start to live out what I had, up until that point, learned it meant to be a young woman. I had been dreaming of her, that woman I would become, and I felt like I was 12 going on 23. (23 was a significant age for me but we will talk more about that later.) No more tea parties. No more dancing with my bedposts. No more ruffles. No more sliding down the mud hills in my neighborhood. No more Barbie camper. No more patent leather shoes! No more Huffy bike or Pogoball. No more playing in the creek. No more sponge rollers at night creating the perfect curl! No more little girl dreams. I was becoming a woman. I had already started my period and was wearing a training bra so of course I was ready to be a WOMAN. That is what they say when you first start your period right? "You are a woman now." Well that is a LOT of pressure. And so it begins or continues that we compare the details of our lives to other women. Wishing we had more breasts, wishing we had less breasts, hating that we are taller than all the other girls and boys, loathing that baby fat that we haven't "grown into" yet, and trying to find what group we belong to: dancers, musicians, brains, jocks and so on. In my case...I was now ready, at the ripe old age of 12, to handle the life of a woman...well at least my body thought so, right? It was the summer of 1990; the summer of my first kiss. I had never imagined this moment before, being that I was only 12, but I guess if I did it would have been a sort of Little Mermaid in the boat moment. But there were no singing birds, only the voice of an older boy daring us to kiss. And the boat was more like the back of a pick-up truck. Instead of feeling magical, all I felt was his braces assaulting my teeth and the confusion of sharing the moment in front of others. It was...well...awful and uncomfortable, but I thought maybe we just needed some more practice. I remember a friend's reaction after her first kiss later that year. We were at a party and she came running down into the basement and whispered with distain, "That was disgusting!" She didn't know why people like, she thought maybe she just needed more practice. So practice is what I did. I spent that summer practicing my kissing skills. At first it was just with him. He became my boyfriend. Not the first mind you. The first was a title held by Christopher. He was a polite boy that all the teachers loved in my preschool. I was 4. After Christopher came Nicholas; he was the first of the "bad boys" if you will. Then in Kindergarten there was Danny. Oh man was I smitten! I would stare at his school picture all the time. He was the perfect boy. When they moved away in the second grade I was crushed, but I wasn't single long. Did I mention I was only 7? Next it was Keith who literally won my affection. He and some other boys ran a race to see who would be my boyfriend...he won. We talked on the phone a few times and would stand by each other at recess...it was deep! The next bad boy to come along was named Jason. He kept to himself and was very mysterious for an 8 year old. I remember our teacher, Mrs. Emma, calling attention to me in the middle of class for flirting with him and told me she was going to tell my mother. I was ashamed and embarrassed. The very thing that had made me feel delighted in then became shameful. We moved when I was in the third grade and I felt awkward and out of place. I began to put on some weight. I was lonely. My parents were divorced. My mom became a working mother and my sisters are 9 ½ and 12 years older than me. I found companionship in food. I quickly realized that boys didn't like chubby girls and my popularity with them began to diminish. However, in fourth grade there was Mark. He had his friend ask me, over the balance beam if I would be Mark's girlfriend. I, of course, said yes. Some weeks later I was at the mall with a friend and my Mom and bought him a cookie with his name on it. I was so excited! When I went to give it to him the next day he broke up with me...so I ate it. It was then that I became destined to have secret crushes. I'd never tell. Finally at the end of my sixth grade year I out grew that baby fat, developed a chest, started my period and once again became boy crazy! Sadly, the lesson I learned was that boys don't like fat girls and that I am only found lovely when I am of a certain build. Everything around me told me that being pursued aggressively and sexually was the indication I was lovely. At twelve, it was the young man down the street that found me lovely. After our first kiss in the truck we would sneak out and meet each other in the middle of the night. Ah the sound of rocks at my window. I was wanted. I was special. There was the exchange of I love you's and of course the article of his clothing that I slept with. But the summer quickly came to an end and he was a year younger than me. I would be off to JUNIOR HIGH, with my new figure, and there were so many more boys to kiss. So we broke up. It was all very dramatic. Then I was off to kiss more boys. With the end of that summer came parties where we played spin the bottle and truth or dare. All of which were coed and none of which I was ready for. So, as the humid days of summer came to an end, so did my innocence. I began to live out what life had taught me it meant to be a woman. My body did not belong to me. It belonged to the boys who did or did not find it beautiful and to the men who abused it and to the father who ignored it's very presence. So with the sound of my alarm that September day in 1990 I left my heart behind and packed up my independence along with the lunch my mother had made. Watch out world here I come, is what I thought. When really someone else should have been watching the world that was coming at me. I had no idea what those halls had in store for me, but I would soon find out...