A Short Story

Cindy was starting to get breasts, there was no doubt about that. And it was about time. Most of her friends had started to develop in the sixth or seventh grade. Everyone in her gym class wore a bra. Actually, she did too, but she didn’t need one. The polyester triangles of fabric puckered pathetically under her cotton T-shirts. But now, the pink circle around her nipples was widening to the size of a quarter and protruding just enough to stretch the fabric of her training bra so it was tight and smooth across her chest.

As Cindy stood naked in front of the mirror, she said three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys, asking God to make her breasts full and round, like Jennifer Hamm’s. She also prayed that she would start her period before the school year ended in exactly one month. She was certain that she was the only girl in the eighth grade who hadn’t started yet. Not that she wasn’t prepared. For the last two years, she had carried a tampon wrapped in tin foil and tucked inside a box of pens to keep it hidden from the boys who routinely stole her purse in math class. Of course, Cindy wasn’t sure if she would even know how to use a tampon when the time came. She thought about carrying around the directions, but they wouldn’t fit in the pen box and anywhere else would have been too great a risk.

Cindy looked long and hard at herself in the mirror—at her square hips, flat butt, and round, pot-bellied stomach. She didn’t look a thing like the girls in Seventeen magazine or the copies of Playboy her friend’s father kept in his garage. And even if she had a nice body, her hair was enough to scare anyone away. In an attempt to look like Jennifer Hamm, who had long, blond hair with soft, loose curls cascading down her back, Cindy got a perm. It turned out that her hair was too short and the perm was too tight, so she looked like a brunette Orphan Annie. Braces filled her big mouth. Cindy tried smiling with her mouth closed, but the braces just made her lips stick out funny.

She turned to the side and looked at her profile. She sucked in her stomach as far as it would go. She said the Apostle’s Creed and asked God to make her stomach flat. When she finished, she looked at the clock. She had only five minutes before she needed to meet Robin to go to the pool. She quickly slipped on her swimsuit and looked at herself one last time in the mirror. The suit did little to hide her inadequacies. She thought for a moment of not going—of calling Robin and making up some excuse. But she knew Robin would know the real reason and tell Cindy she was being stupid. Of course, it was easier for Robin; she had her period and small, perky boobs.

—-

Cindy rode her bike to the corner where Robin was waiting for her, wearing her bathing suit and flip-flops, with a towel draped over her neck, just like Cindy. They pedaled fast to the neighborhood swimming pool. It was the end of May but already hot and humid, as it was most days in southeast Texas. They rode fast past the big houses with their broad green lawns and heard the splash and calls of swimming children in the backyards. The trees that lined the street sagged under the burden of Spanish moss that hung from their branches and cut the yellow afternoon light like fingers.

Cindy stood in the pedals and pumped her legs harder. She loved the feel of the wind in her hair. She loved the whirring sound of the tires on asphalt. She loved the dryness that crept into the back of her throat and the sweat on the back of her neck under her hair. She sat back in the seat and leaned forward, pedaling faster after Robin, who led the way.

At the pool, Cindy and Robin staked out a spot on the grass far from the water’s edge and laid on their backs in the sun. After about twenty minutes, Randy Olson, Pete Waters, and John Meeks—the most popular boys in the eighth grade—walked into the gate and ran to the high-dive. Cindy couldn’t believe it. There were no popular girls there. In fact, there were no eighth-grade girls at all, except for Misty Marsh, who was a total dork and there was no way they were going to pay any attention to her. Cindy thought now was her chance for them to notice her. Randy was in her history class, so he knew who she was, but he never talked to her. Sometimes she wondered if she was invisible.

Cindy turned to Robin. They covered their mouths and giggled.

“Let’s go off the high dive!” Cindy jumped up off the grass.

“Are you kidding?” Robin grabbed Cindy’s ankle. “They’re going to know we’re going over there to see them. And besides, do you really want them to see you in a bathing suit?”

Cindy looked down at herself and saw her pathetic little girl breasts and her round stomach and wondered what she was thinking. She wished she had brought her T-shirt, then she could have put that on over her swimsuit. She grabbed her towel and tied it around her waist, and then sat back on the grass with Robin and watched as the boys did cannonballs and jack-knifes off the high-dive. Cindy imagined having a beautiful body and no braces and wearing a bikini. She imagined walking by and hearing them say, “Is that Cindy Singer? Wow!”

After watching the boys for a half-hour, Robin suggested they leave. “Your legs aren’t going to tan with that towel wrapped around your waist anyway. Let’s go to the Stop-n-Go and get some Jolly Ranchers.” They put on their flip-flops and stood up, brushing off the backs of their calves that were thatched with the imprint of the grass.

As they walked towards the exit, they noticed Randy, Pete, and John following behind them—not directly behind them, but close enough. Cindy’s heartbeat quickened. She wondered if they were coming to talk to them. She licked her lips so they would be shiny and pulled the curls of her bangs individually to try to straighten them. She prepared to turn around and smile. All of a sudden, the boys burst into a cackling laughter. She wondered if she should turn around. Were they laughing at her? Maybe they were just trying to get her attention. She looked over her shoulder casually. They were looking at her, so she smiled.

“Hey, Singer,” Randy said, still laughing and pointing at her, “you’re not supposed to go swimming when you’re on the rag.” Cindy laughed with them, not sure what they were talking about. Just then, Robin grabbed Cindy by the arm and pulled her into the bathroom next to the exit.

“Oh-my-god, Cindy!” Robin’s look was horrified. “You started!”

“What?” Cindy laughed nervously, trying to make sense of all that had happened–and was happening still–too fast–like someone had pressed the fast-forward button.

Robin pulled the towel from around Cindy’s waist and there, on the back of it, right in the middle where Randy, Pete, and John could plainly see, was a spot of blood the size of a margarine cup. Cindy couldn’t say anything. She just stared at the perfectly round blood stain and burst into tears. All of her planning, all of her preparation, all those years of carrying a tampon in a box of pens, and this had to happen. She couldn’t believe it. She wanted to die. “Get in there,” Robin spun Cindy around and shoved her toward a stall. “Go in there and take off your suit.”

Cindy collapsed onto the toilet and began sobbing, deep and full. “I can’t believe they saw. I can’t believe they saw,” she said over and over again. She buried her head in her hands, hoping it could hide her, make her disappear.

“Just give me the suit.”

Cindy handed the suit under the stall door to Robin. As Robin ran the suit and towel under the faucet, scrubbing them together to get out the blood as she had done to her own clothes a number of times, Cindy sat shivering on the toilet, replaying the events in her head. She thought of going to school on Monday; everyone would be talking about it. Her sobbing grew even more violent.

“Here,” Robin handed the suit and soaking towel back under the door and then dropped a quarter in the sanitary napkin dispenser. Robin handed her a pad. “Put this in your bathing suit and tie the towel around your waist.”

Cindy did as she was told, unquestioning. The pad was stiff and bulky. It rubbed her inner thighs. She emerged from the stall, her face blotchy from crying. Robin stood outside the stall door, smiling, “Well, at least you started your period!”

Cindy laughed and started to cry again at the same time. She slapped Robin on the arm. “Shut up!”

“Let’s get out of here. You can come to my house. It’s closer. And you can borrow some of my clothes to go home.” Robin turned to walk out of the bathroom.

“Robin!” Cindy grabbed her arm. “They could still be out there!”

Robin peaked her head around the corner of the bathroom door. “They’re here, but they’re at the high-dive. They won’t see you.”

They rushed out the gate, looking over their shoulders to make sure the boys weren’t watching, and unlocked their bikes chained like prisoners to the rack. Cindy swung her leg over the narrow seat and sat down. The bulk of the pad and the wet towel were uncomfortable. They pedaled slowly to Robin’s house, stopping every few blocks so Cindy could adjust the towel or, more discreetly, the pad, which was causing small welts on the inside of her thighs. As they made their way slowly to the house, Cindy remembered the ride to the pool just a few short hours before. When the wind made her throat dry. When the sweat ran down the back of her neck. When she could pedal as fast as she wanted.