The Tradition

Today’s the day. I turn 18 and my entire world changes. I look in the mirror at my hour glass figure, my eyes stare back at my worried face. I touch my young perky breasts and then my freshly waxed bikini line. I have a satin red dress lying on my bed behind me reflected in the mirror like a puddle of blood. What the day entails physically pains me and I stall way too long to get that dress on before the ceremony. The ceremony is long is what they told me. You’re just there for the majority of the time on a stage with this short tailored just to fit every curve of your body perfectly dress- In front of lights where you can hardly make out the faces of the people standing right in front you. Ooooh I just got goosebumps. The last time I was this nervous was when I got my period and knew I had to face the committee to pledge my entering of womanhood to all of the community. No stage, no lights that time just sheer embarrassment of admitting to your neighbors and retelling your first experience bleeding from your genitals.

My arms bend around my back to zip the top of the dress. I add my necklace next, the one my mom gave me just last night. It was diamonds and little red rubies, each girl got this the night before their 18th birthday ordained with their birth stone of the month they were born. Mine was ruby. It matched the dress perfectly. I slip my feet in to silver sparkling high heels that I know are going to have me throbbing in my pain by night’s end. I don’t look pretty bad. In fact, I look good. I look really really good. Just the right amount of cleavage shapes around my chest like a big heart. My thighs fit tightly against the short seam that just ever so slightly protects my girlhood from being flashed all around the towns people on stage.

Next is my makeup. My mother said the light washes you out on stage so I should add a shade darker of foundation so my facial features are presented like deli meats on display at a butcher shop. My eyes are hazel, a mixture of green, gray, and dark blue. I pat my eyeshadow brush in a sparkling tan eyeshadow and apply it on my gentle eyelid. I blend it with dark gray fanning it out to the end of my eyebrow. I then apply my eyeliner in the perfect wing, my angel wings or the wings of a pad I stumbled to learn how to use alone in the bathroom at age 11. I curl my eyelashes staring at the top of my ceiling, a dim neutral white that sings the old familiar toon of sleepless nights and tiresome awakenings. I then graze my long eyelashes I was gifted with from my lovely mother with a stick of mascara trying not to get it in my eye and ruin my entire look. I blend out my foundation onto my cheeks in a T shade along my forehead and across my face. It is a little too dark in this lighting, but I’m sure I’ll look great once those orbs of light hit me on stage.

I get up and still linger at the image of myself in the mirror looking more beautiful than I ever have in my entire life. My hair is long and wavy with tons of blonde naturally highlighting the rest of my brown locks. I put some red lip gloss on and taste the sticky metallic flavor the gloss leaves on your lips. The look is complete.

I take some deep breathes before leading my way to the door. I stare back at my bedroom of my adolescence. It’ll be days before I return to this room and when I do, it will be cleaned out of anything that resembles youth. My stuffed animals will be put away for my future children. My posters broadcasting singers of my favorite bands will be rolled up and sold online. My lava lamp, my stickers, my coloring books, my crafts, all tossed away into storage or trash. It will be replaced with furniture that fits a young woman no longer burdened with the woes of girlhood, but instead those of responsibility and expanding the bloodline.

My hand shakes hovering above the door knob. My eyes closed tight anxiously anticipating what’s on the other side waiting for me. I turn and push the door and out I come smelling of vanilla and shining with my body robed with satin and sparkles. My mom hears the door swing open and hurries from the living room to the hallway.

“Oh…my god! You look beautiful, Honey!” She says while coming closer to fix the cleavage of my dress and brush the hair out of my eyes.

“I don’t want to do this,” I whine and push her hands away from my bosom.

“Why not, dear? This is womanhood and should be the most exciting day of your life! God I remember when I had to stand on stage. I loved the attention of all the horny old men adjusting themselves in their pants at the sight of little old me!”

“Ew…no thanks.” I pout and stare down at the floor not wanting to look up and match her happy mannerisms.

My mom follows my eyes to the floor and sighs.

“Look…I know it can be overwhelming, but the people you’ll be standing in front of have known you since you were a baby. Everyone’s so excited to be here. No one will judge such a beautiful girl presented in front of them. I’ll be in the front rowing cheering you on!” Her voice bounces with optimism.

“Fine I mean it’s not like I can just back out.” I look up at her with hopeful eyes knowing that sentence meant nothing and didn’t stand a chance against over a decade of traditions for women in this community.

My dad’s feet approaching from down the stairs clicks onto the wooden floor. He walks into the door way, his hands fixing the tie onto his suit. His beard, freshly trimmed, his eyebrows freshly plucked. His dark brown hair resting across his forehead effortlessly. He really is so handsome. I guess I am lucky there.

“Good evening, ladies.” He smiles in our direction and his eyes gleamed at the sight of me.

“Good evening, daddy.” I try to imitate a smile, but I think my face just curls up screaming “help me”.

“You look absolutely stunning. I can’t wait to present you as a woman to our dear community. Tonight will be a night to remember for sure.” He comes over and kisses my forehead. He smells like a cologne you find you at an expensive kiosk in a mall. I get goosebumps at his touch and my forehead stings with his lips pushed against it. I smile at him as he gently sways away.

He walks around to his beautiful wife and kisses her on her lips for a solid 6 seconds which brings me back to a memory of my childhood. I was on the playground with my childhood best friend. She says that you know when a mommy and daddy love each other, they’ll kiss for at least 6 seconds. That’s the amount it takes for intimacy to really occur. We laughed and laughed that day pretending to kiss our hands practicing for the pathetic boys we were shoved into classes with for show. We went to school for nothing because all of our careers entailed the same thing- make babies and take care of the home.

My dad backs away from my mom and looks up at me who is staring at them deep in thought. He smiles and winks.

“Well I’m going to head over there and get set up. I’ll send the limo around front for you in about 15 minutes, Nicole,” he says to me as he straightens up his posture and struts his way to the door. My mom turns to greet my eyes that are focused in on my fathers attire.

“He’s such a gentle lover, sweetie, you really are so lucky. My father was a stern man with no emotion and touched me like I was some type of robot programmed to give him pleasure to mark his territory.”

I flashed back to the present. My face collapses from a fake smile to a look of worry again.

“What was it like? To be practically raped in front of your entire town?” I say to her almost in a whisper.

My mom’s eyes grow wide. “Rape? Oh honey, there’s no such thing as that here. Men take what we give to them submissively. We are born into this world to bring more of us into it! We are far less powerful, strong, and deserving compared to these wonderful men that provide for us. It is our right to let them have us in any way they want!”

I shake my head. I’m so confused with what this community stands for. Why hasn’t anyone tried to change something. Why are all the girls walking around clueless when we can band together to leave this community.

I mumble to myself, “I deserve rights to my own body.”

She shakes her head pretending not to hear that. She scuttles over to the window to see if the limo has arrived.

“Honey, get yourself ready I think I see the limo coming up now.”

I mope my way over to the door. She opens it for me and I am greeted by the sight of a large black limo with tinted windows slowing down to a stop in our driveway. The driver gets out and marches to the door to open it for me.

“Thank you,” I say while he checks me out almost licking his lips at the sight of my young body ordained with jewelry and vanilla perfume.

The drive to the ceremony felt like seconds. The next the thing I knew, the door was being swung open and I was pushed into the building by chauffeurs and chaperones. When I got behind the stage, I heard my dad’s voice echoing in the theater.

“….when Nicole was born, we were so happy she was a girl. We knew we had another important person to fill the community with generations to come. She was oh so beautiful and over the years, puberty has chiseled out her body to give birth to more wonderful babies to make us all proud…”

Ew dad. Chiseled out my body to give birth? They really are convinced this is the right way of life. To talk about their daughters in such a way is so gross.

“So let us give a warm welcome and raise your hands to clap for my daughter before those hands are occupied with other things,” he laughed and I heard applause and chuckles throughout the audience. The chaperone behind me yelled to me to get on the stage and stop looking like a lost and confused puppy.

I approach the cheering and claps and whistles and I’m met with the glaring lights that are somehow even worse than what I expected. The heat from them beats down on the stage and I wonder if anyone can see the sweat that nervous thoughts have produced on my forehead. My dad puts his arm out to hold me at my waist and kiss me on the mouth for the first time.