MomentsI am five years old.Moments by ameiya
The boys in my class have just been teasing me about my last name. It is, unfortunately and a little ironically, Gaye. I'm at my desk crying while my first grade teacher talks to the boys in the hall. My best friend Garrett sits down next to me and tells me that I shouldn't cry because my name is spelled different than "the bad kind". I stop crying because I find that strangely comforting. But the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach doesn't go away.
I am eight years old.
I'm reading a book from my favorite book series, the Alice series by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. The book series started out age appropriately enough but as the girls in the books have gotten older, so has the material. The talk of innocent handholding and who likes who have turned into full on discussion of sex. But even though I know I'm not supposed to be reading things like this I continue to devour each book. At the part I'm at Alice has just seen her best friend kissing another girl at the ma
Think of the mushroom like explosion of an atomic bomb. Imagine, instead of ash, dust, shrapnel, and all the other rubbish flying at you through the air in a huge wave of power. Imagine every piece of flying material, on closer inspection, turns out not to be rubbish after all, but words, thoughts and emotions.|
Rewind the image: Let the explosion shoot back, get smaller, follow it to the horizon where it started, and you will see all those words, feelings and emotions shooting back into the top of a adolescents skull.
Now imagine that adolescent looks absolutely mental: skirt over skinny jeans, unfitting hairstyle, trenchcoat billowing around her...
...yeah: that is me