"Normal"
By Linda Geraghty
The heat in my fourth-grade classroom
Makes it hard to hide my Smell.
The newsman said it’s not supposed to be this hot.
But then why is it? Why now?
“Be careful out there.” He said
“Out there” is not my problem.
In here is.
No air conditioner
No breeze
No relief
Sweat seals me to this hand-me-down desk.
Catholic wood.
Squeezes my thicker body.
Big bones
The round clock below the speaker
Isn’t helping at all.
Move faster. Get me out of here.
But it doesn’t.
Mom, rushes
before my feet hit the bedroom floor.
I searched for sanity,
Time for myself.
Desperate,
A solution.
Sleep in your school uniform
Already dressed for the day
After school shove my uniform in the bottom drawer
Socks and blouses get lost in the wash. So don’t wash them.
Mom flicks the light switch, shakes me awake.
“Time to get up.”
It feels like the middle of the night.
I dart from bed,
Mom gets louder if I move slow.
“We don’t have all day.”
I don’t understand that.
We do have all day.
Sleeping in my clothes, I can keep my eyes shut longer.
It gives me time to fix my frizzy hair.
5:30 AM Mass
Delivering newspapers
Vacuuming downstairs
The morning drink
With the raw egg.
Still better than
the stew at dinner
Veins and organ turn white in my mouth.
Mom watches to make sure I swallow.
While she eats nothing.
The egg is easier.
Hold my nose and my breath
Eyes scrunch
Down it goes
At school, I’m tired.
I can’t think and I’m not smart.
Not pretty
Not thin.
Fully dressed under my sheets,
I stretched, yawned, closed my eyes a little longer.
Pulled the green gel from the bathroom sink and tried it in my hair.
Matted the frizz down.
It felt good to do that. Normal.
My hair is smoother,
like the others.
But I also smell like dead things.
My classmates shift in their desks.
Stay put. If you don’t look at them, they won’t know it’s you.
I stare strait at nobody.
Is it possible to sweat more?
I’m dripping.
The corner of my left eye
catches the boy in the seat next to me
waving his hand at his nose.
He doesn’t know it’s you. Stay still. Don’t move.
He stands and walks to the teacher.
Whispers. Looks my way.
They know.
Why did I do this?
So stupid.
Sleep in my clothes all week.
What was I thinking?
That’s what people say.
I don’t stop and think.
How do you stop when you don’t know how.
My shoulders shrug around my head and
I hide in there.
Pick the skin on my fingers,
Gaze at nothing.
It feels better when my fingers bleed and I can’t blink.
Stare at blurry space.
Miss what I don’t want to know.
Maybe God can help
Get me out of this, and I’ll never lie again.
I’ll marry you. Become a nun.
I think about the lavatory
Soap under my arms, hovering over the sink
Splashing water to rinse.
Scrubbing the pits of my blouse.
But if I raise my hand
the smell will spread.
The school sink bath would be
better than my shower at home.
Mom times them
Yells from outside the door.
Bangs with her bones.
“Hurry up in there.”
Water costs money.
No time to lather
And the soap bar stays dry.
The bell interrupts
My picking and staring.
Rip my legs from the damp seat.
Thinking, thinking, thinking
Schoolbag, arms down
so the kids in line don’t smell me.
“Linda, I need you to stay after for a moment.”
In the empty hallway,
My teacher kneels.
Looks into my eyes.
I’m not here. I’m away. Not here. Not here
Her kind smile, pretty face, clean smell
pulls interrupts.
“Linda, do you shower?”
Smile. Bounce my head,
Move fast with my words.
Don’t feel this.
Crying takes longer.
“Yes. I take one every night.”
“Perhaps you are missing spots.”
She lifts her arm to show me how with invisible soap.
“Do it like this. Make sure you lather.”
Can I leave now? All I want to do is go home throw my uniform in the wash and never ever wear it to bed again. Not ever.
“Oh…then maybe….”
She looks up.
Fill the air. Tell her you like her shirt. Something.
“Did you get your period?
Do you know what that is?”
My sisters whisper about it.
“That would explain……”
She says Ph balance changes when you get it.
A way out.
I say, “Yes, I did.”
Can’t tell her why I really smell.
Fake period is better.
“Ten is a bit early, but it happens.”
She stands, tells me I’m going to be all right.
Reminds me about the soap.
Tells me I’m a woman now.
And releases me into the relief of the heat.