Growing Up Pagan ✩ 31
the group of girls I sometimes hung out with at school that because I hadn’t started my period yet, I truly didn’t understand anything. At home, it was the opposite. The oldest of four girls, I was taunted about my changing body. My sister Angela and her friends would follow me out to my favorite pasture and wooded areas proclaiming, “Monica’s developing, Monica’s developing!” My two baby sisters would look at my budding breasts wide-eyed. I was no longer that sister who ran shirtless with them through the back field on hot summer evenings. No, their big sissy had to wear a … bra. I was an alien. When I finally did see those first traces of blood on my panties, instead of reaching out, I tried to hide it. I didn’t want to be teased by my sisters, and I definitely didn’t feel the girls at school deserved to know. It wasn’t until months later, when my mother found a pair of my underpants stained with blood, that she came to me. “Monica, did you start your period?” she asked, in front of my younger sisters, who smirked and giggled. Humiliated, I belted out, “No!” She looked at me for a moment and then held up the blood-stained panties. “Okay,” she said. “Then this has to be one of three things.” My eyes widened when I saw the incriminating evidence. “One, you started your period. Two, you’re bleeding for no reason, and I need to take you to a doctor. Or three, I wore these panties while on my period.” She tapped her foot. “Well, which is it?” “I don’t know.” I could feel my face heat up. “Well, I know what I can tell you.” I thought there was a tinge of anger or maybe it was disappointment in her voice. “It wasn’t the third choice.” I heard more giggling from my sisters. I shot them a glare and said, “Shut up.” “So, honey,” Mom continued. “Do I take you to the doctor, or did you start your period?” I looked to the floor. “I started my period,” I mumbled.