Chapter: Renys Parking Lot
“I need some stuff from Renys ,” her mom announced while they were eating breakfast.
“Okay.” Amanda hated shopping, but she loved the way those makeshift boxers felt last week, and she wanted to know that feeling again.
After the two gathered dishes and spoons, they started the outside part of their Saturday morning.
<walking into Renys>
It’s annoying they have to have a girl side and a boy side, so awkward; a strange but valid thought for a 16 year old brain to be having.
“I need some underwear, and I want to try a different style,” she got the words out, but without a nervous scratch? Hardly.
“What sort of style?”
“Just something different.”
“Okay.” She heard the neutral word her mom chose, but she also heard the skepticism decades before ‘kay.’
Amanda looked toward the men’s side of the store. She had asked Cindy, her adult best friend who assured her women were allowed to wear dude undies too, what size she should try. Cindy suggested mens large, and so with a deep breath of confidence, Amanda headed to the left.
“The girl section is over there.” Her mom always spoke just loud enough to gather the attention of stranger adults who supported her mom with their silence and stares. They understood what Amanda understood: that “the girl section is over there” was code for “why are you such a freak.”
“I know,” Amanda knew her mom was confused, “I told you I needed a new size and I wanted to try something new.”
As the cogs flipped around in her mom’s brain, the awareness hit when she suddenly realized she was standing in front of the men’s boxer display with her daughter: “I’m going to wait outside.”
“Okay.” Was all Amanda could say, feeling somewhat grateful her mom went away, while also feeling nervous about the potential second awkward reaction some cashiers force when a customer buys things outside of the “normal” box. Remember, it was the 90’s; “normal” did not include a 16 year old teen girl buying men’s underwear. Times were shifting, but that was a lot for a 16 year old to face alone.
As Amanda walked out of the store with the new clothing that she was ecstatic to try, she silently thanked god that the store clerk just smiled.
“She’ll be angry but whatever she already hates me,” were the out-loud words Amanda said knowing only her ears would hear as she walked as slowly as passible to the car.
She opened the car door and got in, mom wasted no time.
“I threw up in the parking lot.”
“Oh, ehh, I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
____
Chapter: Tummy Toe Blues
“Hey! Amanda! Come here! We want to ask you something!” The two girls that were yelling at me were not the kindest of the bunch, but they weren’t always mean either.
“Me?” I said with my face: the loudness of the underground pool swamped the room so intensely that my shy voice could not be heard by anyone more then 2 feet away.
The local YMCA hosted swim-team meets when we had home meets; I hated swim-team meets.
We would practice in that pool as well; I hated that pool.
A relevant note: part of what made swim-team horrifying, was the bathing suit they had to special order me, because my body would not fit any of the pre ordered sizes; I hated bathing suits.
“Yea yea, Come here!” one of them gestured and waved me over.
As I stood, I wrapped my towel around my body, doing my best to cover the horrible team suit that made my body feel and look even worse. As I walked over I wondered what they wanted. They were smiling and looked happy, but I was learning that their happy faces were often because they thought I was funny, not because there were excited to play and involve me.
But, like any 11 year old, I was desperate to fit in and to be treated as the other girls were treated. I suppose this was a foreshadow on a few themes that came up later in life, but for a kid who just wanted friends, I always took the risk when they offered.
“Put down your towel,” they already wanted me to abandon my security towel. I knew, and they knew, “stand up against this wall, keep your back to the wall, look down, and tell us if you can see your toes”
Oh, Right. I thought in my head, they didn’t want to have fun with me, they wanted to make fun of me. I said “no” and started to walk away.
“No, no!! Look we will do it too!” They both stood against the wall and told me how they could see their toes. “Now you, you do it!” History and their smiles told me that if I didn’t comply, the punishment would be worse.
I stood against the wall, I looked down; perhaps with my neck bent forward slightly, “I can see my toes,” I muttered hoping this would satisfy their needs.
“No no. you cheated, you can’t move your back off the wall, like this,” one of them said as she girl-splained me on how to lean against a wall using my back.
I sighed and tried again, they would not relent until I did this pointless amusement they craved.
“I can see my toes.” As I write this memory 35 years later, I do not fully remember if I could see my toes or not, but I wasn’t going to give them what they wanted, and even as a shy kid who felt worthless and sad all the time, now, looking back, my defiance then, became my strength later. It fuels me. It wasn’t until I started writing this scene, that I realized the importance of my tiny defiance. It didn’t matter if I could or couldn’t see my toes, their agenda was set.
“NO YOU CANT!!”
“YOU CANT SEE YOUR TOES; YOUR STOMACH IS TOO FAT! LIAR. YOU’RE A FAT LIAR!”
They laughed, grinned, and gleamed as they declared my worthlessness and sent me and my towel-shield on my way, offering one last “AMANDA PANDA FATSO! HAHAHA!” Just loud enough for my ears to hear, yet oddly never loud enough that one of the 59million swim-team adults or coaches would ever hear. Also, it took me years to stop discriminately hating pandas.