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"He rose and went to the bathroom cabinet and then he returned with some cold cream. First, he rubbed around my bosom, and under my arms with a towel, drying the skin. Then he told me to just sit back and relax as he dabbed the cold cream on and gently spread it over my chest.
"'Good,' he whispered. 'That's good. It feels better, doesn't it?' he asked as he moved those long, spidery fingers around, under and over my bosom.
"It did feel better. When I opened my eyes, he was looking down at me with such a bright hot look in his eyes, I was both frightened and confused for a moment. Then he spoke softly again and promised to talk to my mother about the terrible thing the sports bras were doing.
"He leaned over and kissed me softly on the forehead. In my house, kisses were as rare as exotic birds. Every one I received, I cherished in my heart, I hoarded like a jewel in my treasure chest of affection. It had a long way to go to be filled.
"Anyway, if my father did speak to my mother about the problem with the sports bras, she never acknowledged it. She didn't ask or come to look. I continued to complain and on each occasion she told me what she always told me. It wasn't the proper time for me to wear anything else. If I did, it would just emphasize my awkward development and draw looks and comments that would upset and embarrass me.
"Finally, I rebelled and refused to wear the tight exercise bra. When she saw I was going to attend school with only a blouse covering my bosom, she relented and bought me a regular bra, but I seemed to outgrow them as fast as she bought them and that displeased her.
"Once, she even considered bringing me to a doctor and you already know how desperate she would have to be before she would think about doing it.
"'Maybe there is something terribly wrong with your hormones,' she considered. That frightened me again. She made it sound like I might grow so big, I'd be in a circus. I tried to find something in the library that would explain it or tell me how to slow it down.
"In the seventh grade, we had a unit on sex education, but it was so vague and general, I didn't feel I had learned anything significant about myself. Sister Anne wouldn't permit specific questions or any question that she termed out of line. I learned more just listening to the girls talk in the locker room and bathroom, but never enough to put myself at ease.
"The only time I felt like I wasn't a freak was when Daddy came in to see me. He told me he wanted to check to be sure the rash hadn't returned and he thought it was best to dab on the cream. He always seemed to see some redness, even if I didn't.
"Once, after I finished my bath, he asked me to lay face down on the bed and he rubbed in body oil he said would make my skin softer. He put it
everywhere. When I giggled because he tickled, he told me to hold my breath instead. He didn't want my mother hearing and learning our little secret."
I stopped and took a breath. I had been talk
ing quickly because I felt if I took too long, I would stop and not be able to start again.
Just at that moment, we heard a tray of glasses tinkling and moments later, Emma, Doctor Marlowe's sister, appeared in the office doorway, carrying her usual tray of glasses, pitcher of lemonade and some cookies. Today she wore a pretty pearl white blouse with a lace collar and an ankle-length dark blue skirt. She had some makeup on, too, and her hair was brushed and neatly pinned.
"Good morning, everyone," she said. "Sorry I wasn't here to greet you, but I had a nasty time in the dentist's office. I'm going to have to have a root canal, I'm afraid," she said with a sad face. Then, she quickly smiled. "But it's not the end of the world."
The girls all stared up at her and I knew what they were thinking Emma had a bosom nearly twice as big as mine I knew all the jokes like 'They're so big they arrive in a room ten minutes before her.' I had heard boys say these things about me. Was this what I would look like someday?
She put the tray on the table and stepped back.
"Do you need anything else, Doctor Marlowe?" she asked her sister.
"No, thank you, Emma."
"Well, everyone looks cheery this morning, despite the nasty weather. I'll see about the lunch," she added, suddenly made nervous by our silence. She glanced at Doctor Marlowe and then hurried away.
"Dig in, girls," Doctor Marlowe said, rising. "I just want to make one phone call during our break."
She smiled at me, rose and went to her desk. Star poured herself a glass of lemonade and Misty took a cookie. Then she offered me one. I shook my head.
"I'll just have some lemonade," I said.
"Why is your mother so uptight?" Star asked. I'm sure even she was afraid to ask me any more questions about my father.
"Something must have happened in her childhood," Jade ventured. "Maybe. . . she was raped when she was a little girl," she suggested with big, teacup saucer eyes. "Was she raped?"
"I don't know," I said. "If she was, she would never tell me. She never has told me anything about the baby she lost. I already explained how she feels about even making a reference to things like that."
"She needs a therapist more than you do, or any of us do," Jade said.
"She had her visit with Doctor Marlowe, just like your parents, but she doesn't believe in therapy. She almost didn't bring me here today."
"Right, don't air your dirty laundry or something," Star said.
