Since We're All Naked Now

My childhood friends still call me Bonnie Jo.

I don't know if it's an old-habits-die-hard kind of thing or whether or not they just can't seem to get past the bouncy brown curls and the sweaters my mom made me wear so I could match my sister. I threw enough tantrums over those, but she seemed to always win. The only thing more powerful than my hate for those sweaters was the need for my mom's approval.

I'm 18 years old now and the sweaters don't fit me anymore. They may be packed away in a box in our basement with dust collecting in the stitching to mute out the vibrant colors and smell like faded memories.

My hair grew out and the scar on my nose faded and I finally worked up the courage to wear makeup when 9th grade came around because everyone else was doing it. I felt prettier and my eyelashes were longer but I still washed it off when I got home from school cause I hated it and still do.

After 6 years of the social hell they call public schooling I mastered the art of trying to say the right thing and not asking for too much attention because they'll rip you apart in this jungle if you don't walk on the fine line.

I took creative writing because I like to write and I ended up discovering myself. Farrah Fawcett helped me do that and Scarlet Carol helped me finish it.

You could say that I'm a coward and I'd say that you're right. I hid behind a pen name for round two.

Nelson burned my hiding place and I have nothing to say but thanks because it was too small and I was too lonely in there without Miss Carter and Scarlet White and Jackie O. There's a spot saved for Trevor Powers and it might just have to wait because there isn't room for two. 

I don't miss hiding, either.

I'll write without apology and you can love it or hate it but it's still gonna be me.





-S.C.