eyes squinted and swollen from the time change and my bro-
ken sleep. There was my body, the word—SPARKLE—on my
tank top written in reverse on mirror-me. And there were my
thighs, smeared like the light switch with blood.
I’d gotten my period. That was all.
I grabbed my glasses from the counter where I’d left them
and then I pulled off my shorts and my underwear and peed
in the toilet, watching the clear yellow stream of urine jet out
from me, watching it mix with the bright-red drops of blood
that splashed into the toilet bowl.
It was the first time I’d ever had my period.
At fourteen, I was the last in my small group of friends to
get it. The year before I’d been anxious about it, checking in
my underwear several times a day, each time hopeful, but after
months of disappointment I’d given up and had decided that
maybe it would be just fine if it never happened at all. And now,
here it was.
There was a bidet next to the toilet. I’d never used one, but I
knew what it was, and it wasn’t complicated. After I flushed the
toilet I scooted over to the bidet and turned the handles until
lukewarm water jetted up, rinsing away the traces of blood. At
the sink I rinsed out my underwear and sleep shorts, squeez-
ing the fabric until the water turned from red to pink to clear.
I hung the wet things in the shower and wondered what to do
next.
Should I wake my mother? It seemed like the kind of thing
a daughter would do. But first I needed to find something, like
a pad. Mom’s toiletries bag sat on the counter; I unzipped it and
found a little pouch that held her tampons. I sat back on the
toilet, fully awake now, to figure out what the hell to do with it.
It took three tries to get one inside; the first one I didn’t have
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