52 Sundays – #13 – Ruth Roberts*

Six foot tall and “sturdy,” you stood heads and shoulders above your 8^th grade classmates.  Somehow, after being introduced through a mutual friend, we became the best of friends and would stay that way all the way through high school. We were thick as thieves, birds of a feather, joined at the hip, partners in crime, BFFs forever.

Though a somewhat intimidating presence to the boys, you had the same curiosities about the birds and the bees the rest of us had.  You met a 24-year-old guy who worked at the gas station down the road from where you worked. You never even told me about your new fascination. Somewhere around the middle of summer between our junior and senior years, you started showing.

One night, just before curfew, we made it to my house, went downstairs to my bachelor pad at my dad’s and turned the music down low.  The image of you, now just over 9-months pregnant, working your way into the beige bean bag chair is one that will always stay with me.  We sat and talked and giggled like we always did.

Soon enough, perhaps from too fervent laughter, my dad descended the stairs and started yelling at me about my rudeness, my inferior intellect, and the certainty of my fated future as one of life’s biggest losers.  Then he said the most insulting thing he could pull from his extensive inventory of self-esteem battering terminology; something so egregious it wouldn’t be forgiven for years.  All sound in the room dissolved, I was blinded by red hot anger as my entire being focused on the words he spewed next, “You two are always together.  What’s wrong with you?  What, are you lesbians?”

* Name changed