The other side of the line

Essay by nix122 February 2007

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I remember tasting a mixture of salt water and chlorine on the tip of my tongue on that hot summer's day. The chlorine taste came from the family pool where I had taken in which I took refuge from the sauna like atmosphere. Suddenly that day turned into night. It was the that night that when my mother came over that I was made aware of that so called, "imaginary line" between childhood and adulthood. My mother had come home with a gift that night. A gift that I didn't want nor felt I needed. Mum insisted on pulling the gift out the bag with a and as she had this overpowering charisma and serious attitude. I simply agreed to disagree, "ok then mum what is it" I said grumpily. She reached into the small crinkled brown bag and pulled out something that looked like two pieces of white circles of fabric held together by lace.

I was shocked. Although I knew very well what the purpose of this what this piece of clothing purpose was, I still let three words rush out of my mouth in a rude and confused manor. "What is it?", "don't be stupid Nicole, it's a bra what does it look like!". At this stage I was questioning my mum's insanity. After all, what joy was I meant to feel out of a gift that she had given to me for her own purpose?"

Taking a closer look at the bra I blurted out, "mum, your boobs are way too big to fit into that". "That's because it's not for me genius, and I doubt your step dad would want to have anything to do with it, and guess what! there are is only three of us in the house so who else does that leave us with aeh?" A smile crept on my face as I imagined the masculine biker, Graham, with a bra on. The smile soon turned sour as I realised that mum had bought this bra for my use. I froze for a few moments and began to stutter " I ,,I ,why?! What?! I don't need it, its for women im, im a girl that wont fit me."

I sat in denial on my bed; my attempt to prove that I didn't need a bra began with pulling every piece of novelty clothing from my past out of my wardrobe. My dance costume from year 4, ballet shoes from year 5 and a fairy costume from the year 5 musical. This attempt however, ended in damageding my spirits as I came to the cold realization ty that nothing fit me anymore and that I had grown. The leotard sat fine on my lower torso which gave me giving me false hope before I soon realized that as the sleeves would not reach my shoulders, my ballet shoes disobeyed its orders to cover the whole of my foot, and as for the fairy skirt, there was a good three inches between one end of the tie to the other.

Sitting there depressed and practically naked apart from the a pathetic piece of cotton based knickers, I came to a decision. I picked up the bra hastily threw the straps hastily over each arm, untwisted it around my shoulders, and after much fidgeting clipped it together at from the back. It was an odd feeling, an uncomfortable feeling. I could feel wires poking into my ribs and shoulder blades. Feeling suffocated I stepped up to the mirror to take a look and I saw an unfamiliar sight. The bra fit had produced such a mature feminine look. It depicted an image of a woman. An this image which intrigued me but at the same time it scared me.

Now here I am at 21 years of age, sitting in an office. I realise now what that first bra did to me. It stole apart of my innocence. As did my first; eye brow wax, make up set, hair colour, straightener, kiss, pay cheque, sexual experience, right to my first car. One thing seemed, and still seems to always always seems to lead to another and the more you grow the more complications occur.

Children deal with skinned knees, while young adults deal with broken hearts. As I sat there and thought about the life that has had passed me, by I couldn't help but wonder whether, if my mother had never given gave me that bra, would I be here now? where would I be now?, Would I have realized that I needed one? Would I have wanted one? If I had bought one when I felt the time was right, would that have made me a more mature adult? Perhaps it would have made me less mature?

Evidently the bra introduced me to that imaginary line, and everything else. It created a spring beneath my feet, till that spring felt too strained it yearned for release and popped. It popped with such a force that it threw me right off over it making me fall straight onto my buttocks. When I But I got, up, wiped the dirt off the back of my pants and turned around. I saw where I was, I was on the other side of the line, the adult side.