melissaahowells - HERSTORY...NOT A POEM BUT EXPERIENCE #ONE

Its been awhile now...
more than 43 years ago
the summer when I was no longer a girl. A summer of transformatio, a summer filled
with false flags of information which only my further experience could prove or disprove...
and with greater experience, make more clear.

I left my home town because it was too small.
I left because my acquaintance with those who lived there bred contempt.
It was important to break away from all of this and differentiate myself
from their homogoneous monotony and reclaim my explicit otherness.
Its was a time for me to decide who I was without the influence of the any of my past.
those too frequent footsteps always treading over and erasing mine.

Intentionally I accepted a job which made me anonymous. I had no further need to stand out nor to fit in.
I was a bartender. I was a maid. I was a bad waitress. My disarming smile proved to be my greatest
asset. It let me be mediocre and continue with my desire to be an unknown factor in my mission to be
my own social experiment.

I changed the name I disliked. I changed my habits and my inner narrative. Aspiring to find and
be my more authentic identity...I felt I was behind in life experience and in all the definitions
that it meant.

Over the course of the summer, a third of me evaporated. Not thinking about who I was considered
before me, I nearly forgot to eat. Time passed best mostly and most happily on the weekends and
at nighttime. I learned to dance. I learned to banter. I learned to drink. I didn't pattern
nor model myself after anyone but the reflection that was gathering in the mirror.

I began to notice others noticing me. Watching me. Especially men. I didn't have the sort of Mother
who prepared me because she'd let me know in her certain terms...I wouldn't catch the notice
of any men. Throughout the summer there was some particular fellow who kept introducing himself to
me and it seemed, was looking out for me all summer long. He was older. he was taller. His eyes seemed
to memorize me and I couldn't figure out why...what was there be in me that would keep his
attention, amuse his eyes into a smile?

By the end of the summer he approached me once more. I was laying across the shelf of the bar
stools looking at the ceiling and cracking wise. He came over and walked up to where my head ways
and smiled into me looking directly into my eyes. I asked "Whadayawant Mister?"
in my slightly slurred voice. His answer made me fall off the bar stools ...he picked me up with
his answer..."YOU!" Grabbing at the waistband of baby-blue cords so they wouldn't fall down...
he glanced and added " I see you're wearing diaper pins to hold your pants up....If you removed
them would your pants fall down?" "I'd like to help you with that...." I'm sure I swallowed
my breath then and I beer belched, reddened as I covered my mouth with both hands. He doubled
over in laughter.

That night I didn't go home with my wing man gal-pal Mary in her hoopty car that was always
breaking down or running out of gas. Instead, he held the door to his Carmen Ghia as if
it were Cinderella's coach. He was the Manager at a resort his Father owned and we walked
straight for his own cabin when we pulled the key out of the ignition after him driving through
all five gears and taking the 45 mph curves along the Pine Beach Road at 60mph in the fog.

He asked me quietly...How old are you...I replied...I'll be 20. He said Do you feel comfortable
with me...are you alright? I noticed the only light coming through into the cabin was moonlight
coming through one large window and it felt as if I'd entered a large warm cave. It was warm
but a zephyr-like breeze was raising the eyelet curtains at the windows. He reached for my face
and then my chin and said I'd like you to say something to me...to ask me to do something.
I murmured/ whispered "alright" a little bit breathless. He kissed me on my forehead on my nose
across the breadth of my lips. I inhaled as if I hadn't drawn in a breath ever before.
He said...Melissa. and I was startled by my name. I want you to ask me something...and I nodded.
Say to me...ask of me..."make love to me, please." I repeated his words. The moonlight
framed his face, his body, his hands and he reached them behind the newly smaller small of my
whittled down 22 inch waist. I heard his breathing. I saw the moonlight. I felt myself
melt and become part of him. In the morning he anointed me with kissed all over my
face and helped me dress. We stared across the built in breakfast nook table and smiled
not saying one single word. He carried me to the Ghia and held my hand and drove me home.

I understand he asked everyone about me after I left Brainerd. I heard he had died
in the winter in a snowmobile accident when he was out helping a guest at his Father's resort
jump their car on the highway. The snow was drifting and someone didn't see him walking
back to his snowmobile back from the side of the road. I don't know if he died
instantly. I only know I did a bit when I heard about it in that instant.

He is part of my history...my "her"-story. Thank you Vincent, me 19, you 27.
And the story in my heart that's not yet been told.

LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS SHORT STORY FROM MY STORY
1:06AM 1/9/2021/ TIME AND DATE STAMPED...WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE
COMING BACK LATER TO RE-EDIT. AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE...
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD AND HERSTORY NUMBER ONE.