That Girl Is Poison

by Tia Hines

  I didn’t dry off good. I didn’t lotion. I didn’t do anything but hurry ’cause I was trying to get out of the bathroom before Jen came in. I was not trying to let her see my nasty underwear. Oh no! I was ready just in time too. She came walking in the bathroom just as I was coming out. We crossed paths, and I hauled my things to the room.

  In the midst of my actions, I got this sudden urge to take a piss. I don’t know where the hell it came from, but it felt like I had been holding it for a minute. I had to drop my stuff in the middle of Jen’s floor and run back to the bathroom. Jen was just stepping into the shower when I invaded her privacy.

  “Dang, Desire!”

  “Sorry. I gotta pee.”

  “Oh, you better hurry up then.”

  “I know. I know.” I quickly pulled my pants down as Jen made her way in the shower.

  After I relieved myself, I felt embarrassment. Yes, yes, yes, there it was again—the shit stains on my new, clean underwear. All I kept thinking was, how is this possible? I’d just washed up in the shower for a long-ass time. I was nearly about to have a heart attack because my eleven-year-old ass was shitting on myself. What kind of mess is that? I literally yelled at myself out loud.

  Jen thought I was talking to her. She peeked through the shower curtain. “You called me?”

  I covered up my doo-doo undies with my hands as discreetly as I could. “Ahhhh no.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Huh?”

  “What’s wrong? You’re acting like something is wrong.”

  “Oh no, nothing. Nothing is wrong!”

  “I hope you ain’t doing number two while I’m in the shower,” she joked, closing the shower curtain back.

  I thought, Too late. I already did it in my pants.“No.” I laughed, playing it off. “I’m done. It was number one.”

  Good thing she’d closed the curtain, ’cause that was my chance to make a quick getaway. I was on guard, making sure Jen wasn’t trying to slip in a peek through the curtain, while I grabbed tissue to wipe myself. It was the strangest thing too because, as I wiped, nothing was on the tissue. I stared at the tissue like, What the hell? I was too puzzled.

  When Jen turned the shower off, I had to snap out of it quick. I needed to make a break for it before she saw me. I left out of the bathroom with my underwear pulled halfway up, sitting just below my butt. I crept to her room, so her mother or brother would not get the privilege of seeing me naked from the waist down. How inappropriate a sight, seeing I was a guest in their home.

  I made it to the room safe and sound and rambled through my bag for some clean underwear. But guess what? I was fresh out. You know I was just done at this point. I had gone through three pairs of underwear already after spending only one night out.

  Yes, I violated the panty-sharing rule. You can borrow clothes but never share the panties, right? Hey, I had to do what I had to do. I couldn’t walk around pantyless. That would be just nasty. Then again, come to think of it, sharing panties and being pantyless are both nasty. I probably would have been better off being pantyless, but oh well.

  I rambled through Jen’s underwear drawer trying to scoop a pair of her undies before she got out of the shower. Don’t ask me why I didn’t just grab any pair as opposed to being picky, ’cause she walked in on me and caught me red-handed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Huh?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I was—”

  “Eww, you’re putting on my underwear?”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Yes, you are!”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Then why do you have my underwear in your hand?”

  I let the underwear drop back inside the drawer. “Oh, I thought these were mine.”

  “No, you didn’t. Yours are right here.”

  She walked over to my brown-stained underwear on the floor, and I ran to grab them before she could get a good look.

  “Eww, what’s that in your underwear?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered, embarrassed. “I think I keep doo-dooing on myself.”

  “That’s dumb! Can’t you feel when you have to go to the bathroom?” Jen laughed.

  I stood there wanting to respond but couldn’t. How could I? I had no comeback, and I didn’t have a reason to give her as to why I was shitting on myself. Then something red and warm trickled down my thigh.

  Jen started jumping up and down, excited. “You’re getting your period. That’s what it is.”

  “What? I’m getting what?”

  I looked down at my legs. I had no idea what she was talking about. My period? The only period I knew about was the one you put at the end of a sentence. I was puzzled. I almost freaked out seeing the blood dripping down my leg. I thought I was dying, and Jen was like super happy. She couldn’t be serious.

  “A period is something that all women get, you know, going through poverty.”

  “But I’m not a woman. I’m a little girl. Do you think it was because we were acting like grown-ups last night?”

  “What’s wrong with you? No one ever talked to you about poverty?”

  “Noooooo. What’s that?”

  “It means you can do the nasty now. Oh, and your breasts are going to get bigger.”

  “Do the nasty? Bigger breasts?” I shouted, freaking out more.

  At that time, of course, doing the nasty was a thought that occurred to me. I had seen it on television one time or two and this lady was screaming out of control. I thought she was going to die, until I figured out what they were doing. Shoot, I was traumatized. If doing the nasty was going to hurt like how that lady was screaming, then I wanted nothing to do with it.

  Yeah, so, anyway, as the blood ran down my leg, I was like, What is this poverty thing? You think I would have tried to wipe myself or something, but I stood there doing what I did best—look stupid.

  “So you’re not happy?”

  “About what? I’m bleeding.”

  “I told you, it’s your period.”

  “Yeah, I know, but what is that?”

  “When you bleed every month, get bigger breasts, oh and your butt gets bigger too.”

  The idea that I was going to bleed every month didn’t settle well with me. Oh my goodness, the thoughts I was having. I was like, Dang, I’m going to have to change my underwear every five minutes. What if blood gets on my clothes?

  “Let me get my mom.”

  “No, no.” I stopped her before she could leave out the room to let the secret out.

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . just don’t!”

  “But she needs to know.”

  “Nooooo, Jen, please.” I really wasn’t looking forward to being embarrassed anymore than I was.

  “Okay, okay, I won’t tell her.” She pouted, stomping away.

  I stood there feeling like crap because I had just made my best friend in the whole wide world mad. She sensed the feeling too.

  “I’m not mad at you, Desire.”

  I was so relieved to hear that. That was something I didn’t get too often.

  “Here, wipe yourself with this towel. And go ahead. Take a pair of my underwear. I have some new ones in there that I haven’t worn yet. Hurry up, though, ’cause I gotta show you what to do.”

  Boy, wasn’t that a day to remember.

  After finding the clean underwear and getting ourselves dressed, Jen became “Dr. Watson.” We went into her office—the bathroom—and had our way. I think we went through like seven pads before we actually figured out how to put one on. Who said instructions with demonstrations were helpful? I think it confused us more. I mean, knowing how to put a pad on now, let’s just say me and Jen were both idiots then. We were young, stumped, and stupid.

  We managed though. We finally figured out how to get the pad to stick to the seat of the underwear and not me. Ha, that was funny! I thought I was too grown then.

  We got back to Jen’s room and overdosed
on boy talk.

  “Ain’t Jeff coming to our school next year?” she said.

  “I think you should go out with him.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t think he’s cute?”

  “No, he looks like a monkey.” I giggled.

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s cute.”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I think he is. You should talk to him. He’s gonna like you anyway, once he sees your big titties.” Jen laughed.

  I looked down at my chest. It was sure enough getting to that stage. It kind of made feel out of place too, knowing that the girls my age probably didn’t have breasts anywhere close to my size. What could I do? Nothing. I was eleven years old with a bra size of thirty-four C. I had to face the facts that this was puberty. Can you imagine that? Jen was the same age and barely fit a training bra! What was up with that?

  “See, you already have big titties. All the boys are going to like you. I’m jealous.”

  “Well, when are you going to get yours?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How can you find out?”

  “I don’t know, but forget about me. Let’s talk about this new thing. Now that you got your period, are you scared about doing the nasty?”

  “A little bit.”

  “You know what to do, right?”

  “I think so, but shouldn’t I change my pad now?”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Like fifteen minutes. I think you’re supposed to change it every fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay let’s go change it.”

  Our conversation continued, as we went into the bathroom.

  “What part am I supposed to stick up there? It can’t be this hard part.”

  “I think it is.”

  “I think y’all done lost y’all minds,” Jen’s mother said, out of the blue.

  We looked at each other like, Oh shit!

  I was hoping Jen’s mother had only just walked up on us and hadn’t heard our entire conversation about boys, sex, and periods. I was so scared and embarrassed. I didn’t know what to expect. I thought we were going to get a good whuppin’, as my aunt called it, but to my advantage, Jen didn’t get beatings. Luckily, from her mother hearing the conversation, she knew we weren’t just fooling around. I had valid reason to be checking out the tampons.

  Jen’s mom gave me pointers on what to do and told me the truth about going through puberty, not poverty. Glad I found out the correct name ’cause people would have been clownin’ me. I’m mad I didn’t know it was the wrong word in the first place. Had my deadbeat mother not run out on me, I probably would have been more knowledgeable when it came to hitting that puberty stage. That damn lady, I tell you. The memory of her makes me sick to my stomach.

  Jen’s mom told me tampons weren’t for little girls, but I went ahead and used them anyway. She gave me a ton of pads to use, but my grown, hardheaded behind preferred to use a tampon. I think it was like some weird mental thing where wearing a tampon made me feel like I was grown and in control, as opposed to a smelly pad that I had to change every hour, like a baby wearing diapers. I didn’t like that feeling.

  I had already developed low self-esteem from my mother leaving and my abusive aunt. I needed something to boost me up, and wearing a tampon was the key. Weird, right? I know. My first period, using a tampon. Insane! I should have stuck with the pad though ’cause I do regret the day of taking on the idea of wearing a tampon. To this day, I don’t wear them, and I will never wear them. Not after what happened to me.

  Chapter 2

  I woke up the next morning at Jen’s house ready to go. I didn’t want to shower, eat, or get my last-minute play in. I just wanted to get the hell out of dodge and go home. I got on the phone at five forty-five in the morning and begged to get picked up.

  “Uncle Frank?”

  “No, Linda. What you want?”

  “Can you please come get me? I want to come home.”

  “Oh no, you don’t!”

  “Please, Auntie Linda, I want to come home now.”

  “It is five o’clock. Are you out of your mind?”

  “Please, I want to come home,” I cried.

  “Girl, take your behind back to bed.”

  “Auntie, I’m scared!”

  “You begged to go over there, so you better get over your fear.” Click.

  Just like that, she ended the conversation. I was about to call again, but Jen’s mother woke up and startled me. I told her I wanted to go home, but she made me go back to bed, saying she’d take me home later. She asked me what was wrong, and all I could say was, I wanted to go home.

  She came to the conclusion that I was a bit homesick and a little shook up over my period. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth ’cause I didn’t want to change her mind. I simply got back in the bed as she requested, sat up for three hours straight and cried. Jen never skipped a snore in her sleep, nor did her mother come back in to check on me.

  No one cared that something was deeply wrong. I was the only one who cared about me. My aunt, that bitch. She didn’t care about what was going on with me. I was crying out for help, and she pushed me away. All she had to do was let me speak to my uncle. That’s all I wanted, but she had to go and make things complicated.

  I couldn’t sit on the bottom bunk anymore. To hell with Jen’s mother. I was calling home again. I went in the living room to make the phone call, hoping my uncle would answer, but my aunt did.

  “A-u-n-t-i-e,” I stuttered, barely getting it out.

  “Chile, if you don’t stop calling here . . . ”

  “But I want to come home now,” I cried out. “Please come get me.”

  “I am not coming to get you.”

  “Can I talk to Uncle Frank?”

  “He’s ’sleep, and he doesn’t need to be bothered with you.”

  I was quickly going to change that thought. It was time to act a fool then. I screamed into the phone numerous times that I wanted to go home. That sure did wake Jen and her mom up.

  “What’s the problem, honey?”

  “I want to go home,” I screamed hysterically.

  Jen just stood there staring at me. Her mom tried to take the phone from me, but I wouldn’t give it to her. I wanted to make the arrangements.

  “Auntie, please come get me! Are you coming?”

  “No. Now stop with this foolishness.” Click.

  The bitch hung up the phone again. I was in dying need of being rescued, and she shut me out. Damn! She doesn’t care about me. I’d never cried wolf before, so I couldn’t figure out why she was ignoring my plea for help. I tell you, that aunt of mine was wicked. It hurt like hell when she hung up the phone again.

  I dialed the house right back. Oh, I was determined to make her care. As soon as she answered, I picked up where I left off.

  “I want to come home now,” I said firmly.

  “Well, I’m not coming to get you. You better find your own way here, calling with that ruckus.”

  Click!

  That was it. She got hung up on this time. I was through with the talking. She gave me the go-ahead to find my own way home. Shoot, she hadn’t said anything but a word.

  I ran in the room, grabbed my stuff, put my sneakers on, and made my way to the door. Jen’s mom was trying to grab her keys to take me home, but I couldn’t wait for her. I was ready, and when I’m ready and determined, there is no stopping me. I ran all the way home without looking back. I didn’t even know if Jen’s mom was trying to follow me or what. I was out.

  I reached home quicker than ever, thanks to my Jackie Joyner running skills. Yeah, I was quick with the feet, and Lord knows I thank Him for that. I needed top speed that day. I wanted to get home in a jiffy. It was like getting rid of a ton of weight when I stepped foot onto my doorstep.

  In my mind, I was safe again; out of harm’s way, but that feeling didn’t last for long. I was quickly reminded that I had run back to the place that I had constan
tly yearned to escape. Auntie Linda greeted me at the door with a brown leather belt in her hand.

  I couldn’t believe it. I had run from trouble, just to get into it anyway. I couldn’t win for losing. I didn’t even have time to catch my breath before I was snatched up, thrown in the house, and beat like a runaway slave. I had welts all over my body. She had gone ballistic on me.

  “You think you grown, huh? You think you somebody? You ain’t nobody. You ain’t shit! You think you can do what you want? Not in my house. Not under my roof. I pay the bills here. You ain’t grown, little heffa.”

  It was always the same ol’ song—I ain’t grown, she pays the bills, and I ain’t shit! And I had no other choice but to take it. I took it all right and cried my eyes out after every episode.

  On that particular day though, when I ran from Jen’s house, I shed my tears in the bathroom on the toilet top. I stayed there crying for like fifteen minutes, until I noticed blood on my pants. My heart started to race as I thought something was terribly wrong with me. I thought I was dying, and the only thing that came to mind was the terrible beating I had just gotten. I kept thinking that Auntie Linda had beaten me so bad that she’d made me bleed. I didn’t know how it could have been possible, but that was what I was thinking. I know, silly me, but what do you expect? I was eleven, and my mind was boggled from my traumatic morning.

  I took my pants off in a panic and saw blood running down my leg. I was so zoned from the morning, I had completely forgotten about the whole period thing. I pulled my underwear down to check my pad but noticed that I didn’t have one on. I was about to flip out, because I remembered that I’d used a tampon. Oh no, that was it!

  I looked down to pull the string, and it wasn’t there. You know a trillion things ran through my mind at that time. I started to cry harder. The damn tampon was pushed all the way up inside of me. I had to get it. Who else was going to do it?