Spare Rib 21S

Miss July

Grew Older By: Caty Brown Art By: Camilla Lee

Author’s note: Over the past year of my life, the world has asked a lot of me. I’ve felt like tree bending in a thunderstorm, hoping I’m still young enough to bounce back.

The change hasn’t all been bad, and I wanted to write a series of vignettes that represented what I’ve been feeling: the loss, pain, joy, hurt, melancholy, fear, and whatever else that can remain unnamed. They’re intended to be a sort of journal of my thoughts, with particular inspiration from the poem “Miss July Grows Older” by Margaret Atwood. You’ll find several references to it.

“The easiest way to change change up your whole look,” “I know,” why am I so surprised? I didn’t make the appointment (I love you mom), shouldn’t a change in my look be my own idea? Technically I guess it is mine. But I didn’t make the appointment, only the decision.

I suppose circumstance breeds opportunity. When something bigger than me said the curls “will have to go,” I nodded.

“When I was young I went with my hair” parted deep, but I don’t do that anymore. Split down the middle, split in two, cracked right through the center, that’s what feels right to me. I’m keeping that. That part is mine.

They were cut. (She cut them.) I think I like the change.

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