Sunday, April 16, 2006, 6:48 PM
I am not the kind of girl who's going to Nair her legs for a first date, nor for a second. I am weak. False intimacy is heady, but a lie. I want the real thing or nothing.
I am the fiery longing Scarlett felt for Ashley in Gone With The Wind. Although I think Rhett was the more dashing, I understand the lure angelic Ashley held for bad girl Scarlett. And oh God, I sympathize, I long, I burn.
I am a survivor, although I feel otherwise. It makes little sense that what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger, because it's not like I (or anyone of us) have a choice. We do what we have to do, which means that we are all survivors in an all too often unforgiving world. Still, I like when others say that I am a survivor, if for no other reason than it makes me feel as if I am.
I am honest, embarrassingly, not hiding it, heart-on-the-sleeve so. I don't know how to lie, I don't want to lie, nor do I see the merit of it.
I am still the kind of girl who'd study an anthill from a hair's breath away. Ants are selfless and work tirelessly until death. Surely somewhere, there must be an Ant Heaven.
I am the only one who stood up to Ronald, one of the middle school bullies who used to plague my childhood best friend. I only wish I'd done it sooner and that I'd had enough guts to punch him in the nose while I was at it.
I am everything that is whimsical. I see Puff The Magic Dragon in the clouds, I feel the presence of a guardian angel, and I believe that it's more than just dumb luck that drives my destiny. Maybe it's God, maybe it's magic, maybe it's me.
I am the five of hearts in a deck of cards. Five, because five is my number. Hearts, because I believe in true love, even though I may never find it myself.
I am the girl who lulled my younger sister to bed with stories of Thummy--my poor left thumb who'd lost his hat in a nut-digging accident. Rhonda loved hearing Thummy talk about his bloody and painful kah-whoomph! and the silver nut digger that tore the hat off his head, and how a new hat had magically re-grown in its place and made him just like new.
I am the one who laughed uncontrollably at the sight of a fly that flew into my dresser's mirror.
I am still disturbed by that dream I had about the devil and how he wanted me. Sexually. (Holy Mary, Mother of God, deliver me from evil, etcetera, etcetera, amen.)
I am the one who hid my hopes that some day I would be the kind of girl boys would love. It seemed so unlikely and impossible when I was only 12, gangly and ugly.
I am surprised I didn't die on the spot when my first grade teacher, whose name I can't remember, sang The Banana song to me in front of the whole class. Beeee-biiiii-booooo-bye, banana-nanna-no-niiiii. He was magical and if I found him today, I would hug him fiercely.
I am the one who always blushed first.
I am still wondering what my purpose for being born is.