Flour

chapter 1

I  decided I was ugly my 6th grade year.  What I would later realize was just what some might call a late bloomer.  This decision lead me down a path of hopelessness and deep insecurity. Sure, I would later discover that this ridiculous conclusion was more so a result of middle school awkwardness but throwing a divorce into the mix forced me to put those problems on the back burner. Things like flat ironing my hair and putting on makeup became insignificant. As my world seemed to crumble around me I begin to retreat further and further into my shell. It became common for me to walk the halls of my middle school without a single desire to speak or look at anyone. In my eyes there was no one who could understand my hardship. I was ugly, pale and disgusted with my body because according to modern pop culture a single ounce of fat meant you were undesirable in every way possible. Being closed off became my defense mechanism. If I stayed in the shadows then no one could judge me. No one would have to feel sorry for me and I could continue to live my life unnoticed and free from rejection. Unfortunatley this became harder and harder due to the simple fact that I was suffering from an extreme case of raging hormones. Being boy crazy became an understatement. Like a ton of bricks my period hit the summer I turned 11. Like most girls periods are often met with an explanation to this new found womanhood and an endless supply of feminine products. This however was not the case for me as I sat practically bleeding to death on my Underwear that day. Blame it on my southern upbringing but I discovered that the details of my first period were not to be discussed. "just use this you don't need anything else" my mother replied to me that morning after I revealed the evidence of my predicament on my bed sheets. I looked down at the thin panty liners she had slapped on the kitchen table and knew something wasn't right especially when she shut down any attempt I made to question her about possibly needing something for a heavier flow. 30 minutes later I was dropped off at my Grandparents with a change of clothes that I was smart enough to bring and the useless panty liners that my mother repeatedly told me would be sufficent when we both knew good and well she just didn't feel the need to discuss it further. So there I sat watching Nickelodeon and like mother like daughter the uncomfortable subject of periods was not discussed there either. Every 2 hours on the dot my Grandmother washed and dried my shorts and panties without question. Maybe she would have run me up to the store to pick the feminine supplies I so desperatly needed if I had asked but my mother over the passed couple of years had developed the uncanny ability to make me feel humiliated over things I couldn't help which left me feeling too embarrassed to ask.  About a week later I was taken to the arranged pick up spot in typical divorce fashion to meet my father for our Tuesday night supper date.  It took all of 5 seconds for him to sense something was off and I had no choice but to come clean about my week long suffering. Anger was an understament as he went on and on about what a sorry parent my mother was and I couldn't help but feel relieved to have someone on my side.  10 minutes later I walking out of the drug store with a brand new box of Kotexes and a bottle of painkillers. I was officially a woman..... well so I thought. 

Summer offered much in the way that I was free and able to escape from many of the child hood pressures and influence that often come with middle school. Unlike most girls my age I found myself preferring the the solitude and fresh clean air my aunts farm had to offer me. It was there I could escape the chaos that had begun to creep into every part of my once normal carefree life. More and more my nights had become filled with screaming and yelling from down bellow as my little sister and I hid behind the upstairs shower curtain like 2 kicked puppies. Things always seemed to escalate when my father attempted any type of sound reasoning with my  mother. Like myself he and I seemed to operate in a similar fashion.  We often lead with logic, we saw things in a very black or white manner. Maybe it was the Gemini in her but this seemed to offend her very existence and caused reactions from her resembling a spoiled  out of control child. I understood my fathers explosions. She had a way of insulting you to your very core by her inability to communicate. The rage she could ignite in my father and later me seemed almost a talent. Now I am not excusing my fathers behavior I do believe there were times he could have held his tongue. Again like myself if pushed far enough we could resort to what I call petty rage and she had become an expert at pushing you to the absolute brink of insanity. Name calling was his go to once that bitter rage took it's hold. Let me be clear growing up in Christian southern household I never once heard my parents cuss. Not even in their most heated moments was foul language uttered but to me what he would resort to was much worse. Mavis. Being called Mavis was akin to being called the devil himself and in every southern family you without a doubt have a Mavis. She was the single most meanest woman I had ever met. She was my Gran daddy's cousin on my fathers side and like him they both hailed from Alabama but couldn't have been more opposite. My Grandfather whom I considered to be the single most sweetest man to walk the planet was in no way similar to her and for years I couldn't for the life of me accept the fact that they were even kin. What she was doing in North Carolina was beyond me but I was scared to death of her. Just recently my 2 Aunts had had the pleasure of accompanying her down to South Carolina for some business. The trip took a turn for the worst when it was suggested they visit some of her kin who were buried at her former Baptist church. Upon their arrival Mavis begin throwing a fit over the grave yards new location "this graveyard has been moved it used to be on the other side of the road! Why would they move the graveyard!" Now this may sound like a woman with a bad case of Alzheimer's but I can assure you this was just who she was. "I'm not going if they are going to disrespect the dead like that" was her final response despite my Aunts futile attempts to convince her that there was no way on Gods green earth that the Baptist Church could or would have moved a 200 year old graveyard. In typical haughty Mavis fashion the hour and a half trip that she had insisted they drive out of the way for was then deemed a complete waste of time by her refusal to even get out of the car. They had definitely moved that graveyard and no one from here to Texas was going to tell her otherwise. Thankfully my Aunts were a good natured bunch and had the gift of tolerance especially towards family. It had been everyone's understanding that the car ride home had been blessed with Mavis's ranting and raving and upon drop off she had vowed to call the Baptist church and give them a piece of her mind. I don't doubt that she did. I also have to give my aunts credit for later being able to recount the story with laughter.

And so it goes Mavis undoubtedly maintained the title of the family witch. It was during my parents worst fights that my father often referred to my father as Mavis. It was the ultimate insult that lead to many late nights hiding behind the dreaded shower curtain. Although I agreed with his choice of words because my mother was in a way acting like Mavis often did I was tired of it. Tired of all the yelling and tired of feeling like I had to take sides. Sometimes looking back on it now I wish I would have given myself more credit for my ability to stay level headed throughout those times. If I had maybe I wouldn't have been so insecure. Maybe I could have seen the person that he saw when we spent our late nights together lying on the bank by the creek listening to the crickets. No car noises or distant hums of planes in the sky. Just the 2 of us. Victims of time and circumstances.

That summer was undoubtedly what changed the events of my life forever. As I said earlier summer offered an escape for me that most kids my age were growing out of. Sure I spent time at the local pool and tried my best to socialize with the other girls but I never could quit fit in. Trying to fit in was hard. I was socially awkward and in my head constantly rehearsing what not to say or do. It was exhausting. So when it came time for my summer trip to the Farm I was always beside myself with excitement. 300 acres of woods, field's and the family home place that sat near the properties edge. Having been abandoned 30 years prior its bones were good and I spent time exploring the inside imagining that one day I might fix up that house and live in solitude with the man of my dreams. Behind it sat a creek it wasn't a deep creek but by all observation it had been once. Farther up a heavy wood board lay across it's top for easy crossing. My aunt had once said that when the county had damned up the river the creek had all but gone dry until one day it was just came back like it had never left in the first place. It was perfect I could take off my shoes and wade in its coolness until the sun went down. I had a long standing relationship with that creek. When I was about 7 I got in the habit of taking my sister down there and throwing green slimy algae at her for fun. We would laugh and play for hours but the throwing of algae was short lived when I woke up one day with giant itchy round welps on my knee and elbow. "Ringworm" my mother stated as she began taping garlic to my knee and elbow. This may sound odd to some but to those who don't know when you grow up with a parent favoring a more holistic approach to things Garlic will always be a staple in the household as it can most definitely cure ringworm. For a week I was forced to walk around with garlic taped to my wounds and despite it's unpleasant aroma before too long the ring worm was gone and I was free to play in the creek once more on the condition that I did not touch anymore algae. 

 "You gonna get up or what" my cousin Faye stood looming over me as I came too from my deep sleep. "What time is it?"  I asked groggily. "Time for you to get a watch". Faye was a gift to mankind. Although we were close in age she was born with what I always described as the permanent brain of a 10 year old. Technically speaking on the spectrum.

"Mama said breakfast is ready" she said poking me in the stomach. "I'm getting up" I rubbed my eyes and the smell of bacon hit my nose. I love breakfast.  My mother never cooked. I don't believe I ever remember her frying an egg after I turned 10 so something so normal as breakfast was considered a luxury to me. Happy Birthday Delilah! My Aunt said when I walked in the living room. I was now 12. On the cusp of being a teenager.