Inspired by Pilar’s piece and by Pilar, I recalled fragments from when I was around her age—moments when I felt myself becoming aware of my body, or when I grappled with what a woman was.
I remember the rainbow-sprinkle cookies that looked better than they tasted every single time, I still buy them for myself sometimes—to prove something?
I remember sitting in the park the night before Thanksgiving, it felt like we would never have to go back to school
I remember my polka-dot push-up bra from Target
I don’t remember my first cigarette
I remember the doorknob falling off the door at the party; music cut for an announcement: “Did anybody take my knob?”
I remember winter in the city like it was the only season
I remember the exact time the McDonald’s by my high school switched from hash browns to french fries: 10:37
I remember visiting my great-grandmother and hating it and knowing that I was supposed to hate myself for hating it
I remember the shop teacher flirting with me and knowing that I wasn’t supposed to know that
I remember visiting my grandparents on Long Island, so much grass and fresh air I felt like I was about to fall off the planet
I remember trying to wear a tie to school one day but I got too embarrassed and hid it in my bag before homeroom
I remember always having the messiest uniform
I remember walking my dog with my mother on the West Side
I remember the Upper East Side on a Sunday night, far from home, black velvet sky and muffled paws on pavement
I remember the smell of thirty girls straightening their hair in one walk-in closet
I remember the feeling of a boy grabbing my ass through a pair of Abercrombie & Fitch jean shorts—before then I didn’t know I had one
I remember eating so many SweeTarts my taste buds stopped working
I don’t remember losing my virginity, I just remember the noise around it
I remember the story of your hurts like they are mine but I have others
I remember time stopping on the highway into Manhattan
I remember refusing to get out of the car