A Storyby Cristina Perachio
It all happens after peak riot grrl and Mudstock. After Fiona’s “this world is bullshit” speech. It’s girl power. Sixties revival. Unsupervised chatrooms, glow-in-the-dark jewelry, and flared jeans. It’s after we pierce our own lips and noses with a safety pin and an ice cube. And worst of all, it’s after Kurt dies, and we know for sure that we already missed everything good.
It happens during a time when everyone thinks Cam and me are sisters, just because we talk and dress alike, but it’s never planned, just happens natural. We are fifteen and sixteen. And weekends that were once spent memorizing old Gilda Radnor skits from my parents’ VHS tapes are now spent in garages, or rusted playgrounds, sitting on car hoods.
How many times have we watched the same boys attempt the same skateboard tricks in this same stupid parking lot? We heckle them like we’re at a Phillies game, so they slip, skin their elbows. The only thing worse is watching them play video games. It’s exhausting, all the watching we end up doing. That whole summer, if we aren’t sweating our makeup off in the Wawa parking lot, it’s dirty feet in someone’s dark, windowless basement with a PlayStation, warm sodas, little whining mosquitos.
We are only just beginning to see ourselves through the eyes of boys we’ve known since cubbies and lava tag, feel the crush of the world on our female bodies. We are just beginning to realize a lot of things.