By Ouanessa Nana
Firstly, The clouds used to whisper my name, Althea. It would be soft but fierce and it would cause me to look up at the sky and wonder about life beyond the one that I had now. The earth embodied my soul and lit a fire within me that I never knew I had. But right now the flames have dimmed, and the light flickers, fighting to stay alive. I have never known a pain like this yet it greets me every month. I know it’s coming. But still, it hits me in the gut with a vengeance and steals the air from my lungs without warning. My chest heaves as I try to speak with labored breaths. The crevices of my uterus throb and withered, each pulse morphing into a wave of flaring aches. I shut my eyes trying to stand up on my feet but I fail, falling onto the floor with a heavy thud. The girls in the bathroom crowd around me, eyes filled with worry, brows furrowed. One girl extends her hand but I squat it away.
“What’s wrong?” She says.
“Cramps. On my period.”
“Oh.” They all say.
“Did you take ibuprofen?” one piped up.
I swallow hard, trying to blink away the dark spots that start clouding my vision. “Yes. Took three.”
One girl starts rummaging through her bag. “Do you need Advil?”
I sigh, falling back into the ground. “No.”
“I’ve never seen it this bad,” Someone says.
Then they all turn away from me and continue to talk while they switch into their elegant gowns. Their long tresses are glossy and sleek, covered in luxurious shiny red bows. The yearning to go home had scaled a blistering soreness in my brain with unfettered reign. My suffering seemed to have no end and there was no way I would make it through the night. My lower abdomen goes to war with the stabbing anguish, ripping up my composure. I groan and moan on the floor, tears flooding my eyes, as I continue to try and catch my breath. The fifth pad that I’ve switched out today is overwhelmed with the bleeding tissues that soak through its barrier in minutes. The blood leaks to the bottom of my dress and stains it dark maroon. I don’t know how much time had passed but the girls returned into the locker room, hair curled, faces caked in makeup with eyeliner as sharp as swords. They looked too perfect to be real. Everyone was ready to go and they walked towards me in long delicate strides, the heels making a rhythmic click against the floor. I wanted to go but my body felt like it was going to explode as every vein seized with a burning sensation. They pull me up, help me get dressed and I go with them half alive, barely able to muster up a breath. When the night air hit my face it cooled me down and left a kiss on my cheek. The sky was sour, muggy, and damp. It felt the rapid beating of my heart and I could see it rejoice, clapping its hands through bright voltaic light. The moon surges through me, sustaining my body, flowing through the oxygen I breathe and rips my lungs apart. As we all climbed into the limo, the girls rolled their eyes at my heaving and gasping breaths. Once we sit down in the clean leather seats, I am swarmed again with smiles and laughter while they tell me this is the prettiest I’ve ever looked. The main topic of conversation is my hair, something that always happens to make way through conversation. They love it this way, straight and shiny. I smile a wave of happiness flushing through me. I feel pretty but I don’t feel like me. Now all I can think about is the weird looks and whispers I get when my hair is in a huge Afro of curls. Most days I can’t control it so I let it get bigger, wilderer. I looked down at my silver stilettos, even though they had picked these ones out. I used to be proud of how I looked but now I’m thinking that must’ve been a mistake. I fall back into the seat, closing my eyes, hoping sleep will take me.
“I’m going home,” I let slip out.
The girls around me gasp. “No you can’t! What about the dance?”
“I don’t feel well,”
“You’ll be fine once we’re in there and you get some food into your stomach,”
“Fine,”
They cheer and when the limo comes to the stop, they all spill out of it and disappear into the slim door frame surrounded by a building as ancient as time. They don’t even notice that I’ve stayed back. It’s like I’m not even here. After taking a deep breath, I thank the driver and step into the chilly air of the night. I had a moment of panic when I saw the red tape plastered all over the walls. It’s still not too late to find a ride home, I thought. Then one of my friends peaks her head out of the door and motions for me to head inside. We plunged down the narrow walkway and into a boundless space where a dozen lights hung across the ceiling. I laughed, the bridle twists leaving my body. They looked like stars in the night sky. An airy, uplifting pop song filled the room and I found myself spinning around on my feet. I stop when I notice a tall male with a black suit and a bare chest waving me over. A black tie was tied around his neck, slung down his frame. It was Kit Dooley. My longtime crush and the first boy to ever truly break my heart. My hips clench and gnaw with every step as I walk towards him. Kit stepped towards me, offering me his hand. I liked the way he smelled like stale salty rubber. But even now I could see the scolding, the supple formlessness of his cheeks. He was a raging storm. The unfathomable chaotic pieces of my heart that I so desperately wanted to piece together but couldn’t because he wouldn’t let me.
I smiled. “It’s so good to see you, It’s been too long,”
Kit grins, flashing a row of shiny white teeth so sharp they look like mini swords. Then slips his arms around my waist and glides us across the dance floor.
“Althea,” he says as he twirls me into a dip. “I would have called you if I could but you don’t know how to be friends with me and I couldn’t bear to break your heart any longer. But I will always appreciate you.”
I almost crumbled under his intense gaze, it peeled at my wounds and stole my breath. “I know, but I will never understand why you don’t love me,”
He throws his head back in cockiness, colossal shoulders towering over my small frame, ready to take their fall. Sweat stretched down my neck and suddenly I felt small. I felt ugly. He reaches for my hand almost apologetically and begins to speak. But when he says I’m too skinny and too dark, I hear your body is perfect and your skin is a dark bronzed sunburn that never falters, brightening every object within its orbit.
He pulls me into his arm and fighting back tears I say, “I get it, I’m not your type,”
He ignores me and continues to say that my dark eyes are too dull and that if they were lighter they would flash with real beauty. And I believe it. I believe all of it because he ain’t the first person to remind me of what I am. Then I saw it, his cufflinks tinged in red seals. Soon I am steeped in a sharp brush of fervor that I run out of the building and collapse into the ground. The clock on the top of the building steals my hours while the moon watches me choke on my tears. The crescent full and ripening, takes my aching bones and leads me into the sun and to tomorrow where I will do it all over again.
THE END.