On Owning Hips

This is a china cabinet at my parents' house. I thought that maybe no one had ever taken a picture of the china cabinet, and that it was dashingly elegant, so I snapped it. My life seems devoid of elegance. I see a puerto rican guy covered in tattoos, some obviously from prison, and I know that I can have a conversation with him about tattoos, about motorcycles, about what is wrong with my car, about my trip to Puerto Rico, and about what he did with his kids over Easter. I will feel at ease until I realize that he is trying to hit on me and I have to remind him that I am married. He would never in a million years imagine that I grew up in a house with built in china cabinets. I miss the time before sexuality. I miss the time when anyone on the playground was a potential friend.

I grew up next to twin boys just a year older than me. As soon as I could cross the street and walk through an empty lot, I found another little boy to join our gang, and we four were a dynamic force until middle school happened and I grew boobs. I was mostly raised by my father. He took me seriously and tossed a ball with me often, despite his many flaws. I grew up to like men. I like how they talk while doing other things...watching football, or staring into the engine block. I like how their minds move from only one topic to only one other topic, even though my mind doesn't work that way at all. I like being judged for my usefulness, even if my usefulness includes my usefully large tits, rather than the endless stream of subjective political measurements used by women.

It was devastating to me when I matured, because even at 11 I knew that it would never be the same. Even if we were just friends, we would always be taunted,"there goes Mountain and her BOY-friend!" I would never just be his friend. He would always wonder if I liked him. I would always wonder if he liked me.

Still, I forget myself. I forget my hips and I forget my laugh. I say "Hi, whatcha doin?" just the same way I would have at age 8. "Are you making a lego space station? That looks cool! I've got some red ones you could use at my house because it looks like you don't have enough."

Eventually they want to know my age, and I know when they want to know my age they are wondering if they could sleep with me. This always surprises me because I don't look anything like an attractive woman is supposed to look. I blush, because I have to think of something deflecting but not deflating to say. I feel embarrassed.

Now I am grown. I've owned a womanly body for decades. I am well versed in the societal restrictions not only on sex, but also race and social class. I can't play with the boys like I used to. It's a shame.