A memory prompt written for “Creative Clusterfuck,” a memoir-focused writing seminar taught by the legendary Molly Guy.
I’ve always been a late bloomer. Not in the hormonal, physical developmental department because I swear I had boobs in the fifth grade. Although, I didn’t get my braces off until my junior year in high school which I’m still salty about. I mean it in the sense that I could never do what everyone else was doing; I couldn’t stomach my anxiety to misbehave.
In middle school my friends were kissing boys, some even tried drinking and smoking, and I was too scared to break a single rule. It was too much weight to bear breaking the law then having to lie to my parents about it too. Some labeled me as a ‘goody-goody’ for going to swim practice, doing my homework, doing what I was told. One time I made out with a boy in a movie theater at the end of seventh grade and that was the talk of the town. Did you hear what she did? With him, who had practically made out with everyone. He was irresistible so it makes sense how I fell into the trap. But it didn’t progress past that because I couldn’t justify putting so much time into a relationship at age twelve. I was scared, like it meant I was growing up too fast. Instead, I kept my crushes from afar but at least I got kissing out of the way.
Freshman year in high school I started losing friends. People were moving on without me and I was smitten watching movies with my older boyfriend who turned out to be gay, so it makes sense why he wasn’t the ‘typical high school guy’ who was getting black out drunk and cheating on me with girls his own age, but watching musical theater and baking with me instead. So, when my friend gave me an ultimatum that if I hung out with her, I had to drink, I caved. She and her older brother picked me up from my house and I was able to sneak past my dad out the door. She was in the driver’s seat without a license because Matt was already drunk. We got to the other house and they poured shots. I didn’t want to take them and was hoping they wouldn’t make me follow through on the deal, but they did. One turned to four and I was quite literally the drunkest girl at the party. The host was pissed that I was talking so loudly and was afraid her parents would hear, so I got kicked out after 30 minutes. On the way home it hit me I’d have to walk back past my dad before going to bed. He knew I was drunk but didn’t say anything. That guilt sat with me for the next week while he drove me to and from swim practice in complete silence.
Sex was the next hurdle. Everyone was doing it. Obviously, I didn’t have sex with my gay boyfriend because he made up excuses to avoid it, and I was fine playing along. I did not want anything of his inside of me either. So, at 16 I forced myself to lose it in the backseat of a car to a boy I’d had a crush on since elementary school because he was cute and I wanted to get it over with. Then, it was no big deal. I started having sex like it was my job.
College was when I actually realized I wasn’t as good at pretending as everyone else. I acted like I was excited to graduate high school because I thought I could escape all of the insecurities of living in a small town: worrying about who I’d see at the grocery store, what rumor would surface about me at school that week, the expectations of my parents, living in my brother’s shadow. My parents spent a weekend moving me in to my dorm then they were on their way. I practically pushed them out the door. I ran back upstairs and was ready to party and meet new people. When classes started it was a total breeze. I had a 3.8 GPA that first semester. I liked my new swim team. I liked my hall mates. But after a few weeks I thought, “is this it?” I had made some friends, but they didn’t feel like real friends, and I missed home. A lot. This never got easier and everyone else seemed like they were having the times of their lives. I drove home right after my college graduation ceremony while my classmates woke up early to get drunk before and continued to after, vowing to “always stay close.”
Now, I’m an ‘adult.’ This is what I wished for since I was little girl crying in my room whenever I got upset about unfair circumstances. Truth is, I’m still confused as fuck. I have no idea how I’m able to keep both my dog and myself alive on a daily basis with no parental guidance. I grocery shop, I apply to jobs, I go out for drinks with friends, I am by definition an ‘adult’ but technically I’ve been one of those for four years now since I turned 18, and only now am I beginning to catching up.