No Red Tent Party

[vc_row][vc_column][title type="subtitle-h6"]Krista Brown[/title][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width="11/12"][vc_column_text]I was chatting on A.I.M when it happened. I didn’t feel any different, the world didn’t suddenly tilt from its axis, I just went to the bathroom, looked down at my underwear and saw an oblong stain of red that ruined my white cotton Hanes. It wasn’t the red of a massacre or even the sultry red of becoming a woman, just plain old uterine-lining red. There was no party, no celebration, no cards, no one even whispered congratulations. I called my mom into the bathroom. She smiled but was not proud- Sympathy. I didn’t get what we were mourning. We went through the basics. Covering that I couldn’t go swimming till I mastered shoving cotton into myself, but was now capable of having children. I changed my underwear and went back to chatting about middle school on the computer.That night with my very first toilet paper-pad fashioned between my thighs I scribbled in red pen that I didn’t think the sudden shedding of childhood would happen so plainly. The only smile I got barely showed any teeth.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]