She

She was extra quiet at lunch. We were at a downtown Toronto restaurant as a family after having taken the subway to get there. A subway ride as a family of 6 might make any teenage girl go quiet or any 41-year-old mother for that matter. I mean, honestly, watching my family get on the subway is like watching The Brady Bunch family figure out a Tesla. There are not enough seats, somebody slams into the entrance gates at least twice because their fare card doesn’t scan correctly and Marcia (remember the football???) definitely breaks her nose when she whacks her face against the window forgetting to hold onto the handrail. But, no, my girl knows better than to associate with us when taking public transportation- she walks 6 feet ahead at all times. Something else was stuck in her craw.

After a few moments of letting her chew her tofu tacos and then with a bit of adept motherly questioning which really is just me asking “what is wrong, baby???” in panicked tones, she dropped her chin and let her blonde hair cascade over the side of her face. I caught the length of her lashes reaching out beyond her incredible clear blue eyes- the eyes that see so deeply they take my breath away.

“I shouldn’t have worn this shirt,” she whispered.

Ok. Wait, what? That simple grey tank top tucked into your jeans? Oh, there must be a stain on it. I can wash that, no problem, and I promise not a single person is noticing because they are way too busy watching that amazing guy dancing underneath the Israeli flag over there. Never mind, I bet it is because you wanted to wear that super cool Star Wars Tee from Brandy Melville, right? I love that one, too, it’s so nerd chic which is my very favorite thing on you. And honestly, your style is so far beyond my rolled-up jeans at your age I can’t even take it. How did I raise such a confident fashionista anyway? I love that you find belts in thrift shops and pair them with “mom jeans” because I’ve tried on those calamitous things, eek, apparently actual moms can’t wear them. Or I bet it is because I’m wearing a tank top, too, and nobody wearing mom jeans means it literally and wants to dress like their MOM! Yep, I so get that.

I had it wrong.

“Did you see that guy? The one on the subway. He wouldn’t stop looking at me in that uncomfortable way. I think he was at least 35.”

She’s 14.

The floor fell out beneath me and the rush of white hot heat that only furious Canadian grizzly bears must know- the ones whose babies maybe get snatched in the nighttime or hit by a car on a mountain road- washed over me in a violent surge. Every single curse word I have ever heard in my lifetime ran like ticker tape across my brain, and I had the pure, blinding impulse to stand on my chair and scream every single one at every single male I could see while ripping every single stitch of clothing off of my own body. I wanted to force them all to stare at me until they saw a human body, the body of a woman who used to be 14 who shredded every inch of it to give birth to the four tiny humans at this table who went to the gym to feel better and lifted weights while their eyes burned into her back then to the male plastic surgeon to carve it up then to the male gynecologist who commented on the length of her legs while she wore his paper shirt then to the bar so that one guy could put his hand on her ass and wink at his friends then to the sidewalk so that guy could cat whistle and the other one could stick his tongue between his two fingers then to the subway so a pathetic one could ogle her baby. You know, so she can start her tally sheet a little bit younger than I had to. So she can see that dress codes at school really aren’t about the young ladies and thickness of their straps but rather about our continued failure to wrap our boys up in hugs and vulnerability and show them a different set of eyes to see through.

Oh, baby, no, no, no, no. I am so sorry that getting dressed is now not about creativity and culture, but it is your armor as you walk out the door to war each morning.

A Coldplay song came on my playlist this morning, Fix You.

“Tears stream down your face when you lose something you cannot replace.”

To the man on the subway: thank you for teaching us something. While she and I can’t replace what you took from her and we most certainly won’t try to fix you, we will be over here showing the fine young men at OUR table all of the glorious mystery and honor of women- no, actually the powerful gifts of all humans who get the precious chance to set foot upon this Earth. She is so much cooler than you will ever be because she already knows things you never got to learn. Her fire grows stronger and brighter now. Mind the gap, sir, she has work to do, and she was born to do this.

“Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones.” (Thank you, Coldplay)

Let’s burn it all down, my love. xoxoxoxoxoxox