MAY 2024 - Nothing is Forever

I was 14, at a summer camp where the counselors came in many sizes and colors. My favorites were a married couple, a black man and a white woman, who liked to sit on the steps of their tent before dinner, always encouraging me to talk with them. Their tent was close to the one where I lived with seven other girls. I was feeling bad about myself and I knew if they saw me they’d want to talk. I wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone, not even them, so I quickly walked on a path away from their tent looking for a place to hide. ​

For the two weeks I’d been in camp, the girls in my bunk kept talking about periods and cramps and bras and breasts and being touched and touching. It was abundantly clear to them, and me, that from the waist up I still looked like a boy. One girl wondered out loud if I was a boy in girl’s clothing. I began to wish I were a boy. Not because I didn’t want to be a girl. No. What made me mad was that boys got to do what they wanted no matter how they looked.

I was tired of being teased about my body. Tired of not understanding half of what the girls were talking about. More than half. Tired of being a lot shorter than the other girls, who called me midget and shorty and weirdo and clueless. Tired of girls making fun of me for not being interested in makeup and nail polish and fashion.

It wasn’t only the girls. I was tired of boys refusing to let me play ball with them because I was a girl, despite being as good as many of them. Most of all, I was tired of feeling like I was no one, with no place, a freak who got born by mistake.

I had walked away from my tent wanting to be alone, to stop hurting. I was so intent on finding a hiding place I didn’t pay attention to the man who called out to me, hoping he would guess I didn’t want to talk to him. I kept walking even when his wife called out to me. Besides, what would I say to them? That I was an undeveloped 14-year-old with no friends? A total misfit? No. Best to keep walking.

Not to be. The two of them caught up with me. She asked what was wrong. “Nothing,” I said. “I’m fine.” The two of them made it clear they didn’t believe me and shepherded me back to their tent.

When we were cozily ensconced, sitting on pillows, he asked, “What’s wrong?” 

I did my usual shrug, feeling embarrassed to be talking about my difficulties. I knew the two of them dealt with big problems, like people calling them names and attacking them just because the colors of their skin didn’t match.

“Out with it,” she said. “We can’t bear to see you looking as if you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.” I didn’t realize they’d been watching me.

They seemed content to wait until I was ready to talk. Finally, when I didn’t know what to say except the truth, I told them everything—the name calling, the feeling of being a weirdo, even the embarrassing bits about no boobs, no period, no way of knowing I was a girl, except maybe for my hair, which was down to my shoulders. They listened without interruption.

When I’d told them everything, she gave me a hug and said, “Nancy, nothing stays terrible forever. I promise you, by the time you graduate from high school you’ll be a fine young woman. 

He patted my shoulder and told me boys take more time to mature, not to give up on them.

They were right.


Was there a time when you felt you had no place in your life? What was that like? 

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MAY 2024 Monthly Stories