doom the icon of sin

“It's not that,” I said, trying to figure out the words to explain, when I only partly understood how I was feeling about it myself. “I know he'd be okay with it... and we might end up going there, eventually. But once he knows, there's no taking that back. I... I just need more time to think about it, first, before we go there. Right now, he's just my Grandpa, nothing else, and I'm just his innocent little baby girl... I'm not sure I'm ready to give that up, not yet.”

Towards the middle of the semester, Mrs. B. devised an assignment where we had to act out a soliloquy from any Shakespeare play. I chose Marc Antony’s “Friends, Romans, Countrymen” speech from Julius Caesar. As we had to be in costume for extra credit, I brought a flat sheet to school to fashion into a toga of sorts. There was a supply closet in the front of the room where people could change. Boys would pretend to peek in the closet when girls were changing. There wasn’t much to see for the most part, as girls might throw a long night gown over their clothes to play Juliet. The door locked on the outside when closed completely, so the few kids with major changes could do so with some privacy.

“Oh, that’s boring. Come back here,” she said a bit too loudly. “Let me show you some nice pants.”“Uh, I don’t think…”“What size are you? You look like a 33 by…36 maybe?”“But it’s not for…” she handed me a random pair of pants.