Page 4 of Protector

“So, what do you say, Lady Celia? Tea, and then a little dance around the maypole?”

I placed the linen napkin across my lap with a giggle. “Sure. Can we build a bonfire again like last year?”

She passed me the tray of cucumber sandwiches with a shake of her head. “The fire department strongly recommended that we not. You burn down one fence, and everyone loses their minds.”

It wasn’t just the one fence; the neighbor’s prized Bradford Pear tree had gotten caught up in the fiasco as well. It had been both exhilarating and terrifying to watch.

“Makes sense.” I piled my plate high, ignoring the pulling sensation in my belly. I’d been feeling off since I woke up but wasn’t about to let it stop me from celebrating with my grandmother.

We spread fresh strawberry jam and clotted cream on the scones and stuffed ourselves on the cucumber sandwiches, but the ache didn’t go away. If anything, it seemed to be intensifying.

I finally excused myself to the guest bathroom and began the nearly impossible task of freeing myself from the many layers of lace and satin. After a brief struggle with the zipper, I managed to get the slip down, only to find a bright red stain.

I’d gotten careless with the jam.

I stared down at it in horror, knowing I was going to be in a lot of trouble. The heaviness in my lower belly reminded me of my reason for being in the bathroom, and I reluctantly placed the slip on the side of the tub.

What was I going to say?

Maybe if I ran it under cold water, the stain wouldn’t set. With a groan, I began tugging my panties down and then froze, hovering over the toilet in shock.

It hadn’t been jam.

Blood.

I knew what it meant. My mother had been warning me for a year now that it was coming. The other girls in fifth grade had begun wearing training bras, but when I asked if we could go shopping for one, she’d been horrified.

Who are you trying to impress, Celia?

“Celia?” There was a soft knock at the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I buried my face in my hands to stifle the sound of my sobs. I’d just sit until the bleeding stopped and then ask Yiayia to take me home.

Everything was going to change; hadn’t my mother said that?

The crystal door knob squeaked as it turned, and I looked up in embarrassment.

“What seems to be the trouble, Lady Celia?” Her eyes landed on the slip, and I held my breath, waiting for her anger. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I’m trying to stop it.”

“Trying to stop it?” Yiayia’s brow furrowed. “My darling girl, this is a cause for celebration.”

I studied the tile pattern on the wall and shook my head. “I know what it means. I can’t talk to the boys at school anymore or wear dresses—”

“Why not?” Yiayia demanded.

“Because,” I gestured down. “I might make them feel… sexual. My mother told me that as women we have a responsibility to not make men lust after—”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I knew she was behind this. Celia, look at me.”

I reluctantly brought my eyes up to meet hers.

“You do not have to change one thing about yourself. Every woman has a period—it isn’t something that makes you sinful or unclean or, or any of the other garbage you’ve been told.”

I protested, “But, my mother said that it changes everything. I can’t sit on the furniture during my time of the month because I might leave a stain behind, and I can’t touch a boy’s arm because he might think I want to do… things.”

Yiayia opened the cabinet by the sink and retrieved a washcloth. She ran it under the faucet with a shake of her head. “I swear, I will never understand why a woman’s cycle is made into a shameful event. Every month, our bodies shed the old and rebuild. A new start, every twenty-eight days. What’s wrong with that?”

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