Sophie's

sophieh

sophieh
Location
Florida,
Birthday
April 22
Bio
I am an OS reader, and an occasional OS writer.

MY RECENT POSTS

MARCH 1, 2010 10:51AM

Sophie, at 17

Rate: 22 Flag

At 17, you are like a wild horse—tall and undernourished, and quick to run. Primitive intelligence, excessively shy. Still too innocent for your age, but there is a reason for that. You keep your distance from boys. You are ashamed when they honk and whistle and holler at you, and you hide when you can. If your classmates ask you out, you start to avoid them. When you were younger, before this, you tried to act like everybody else. At fourteen, for example, the neighbor boy spends a week staring at you as you both wait for the school bus and finally musters the courage to ask you to the Homecoming dance. You tell him you’ll let him know because…did you want to go? Not really, but everybody else wants to go, and your friends are going. So finally you say yes, a day before the dance. You don’t mind dancing but you don’t know why the boy is smashing you up against him in the dark. He tries to talk to you, but you don’t want to go outside with him and you don’t want to hold his hand. You want to go home.  

You spend all your time with your best friend, Kathy. The two of you lay around on couches in her basement rec room, talking incessantly, listening to music, speculating about life. Her brother Jack starts following the two of you around and you don’t get that either. He sits at your feet, touching his shoe to yours. He asks you questions, teases you. Kathy wants him to go away. You like him, but you don’t know why he is bothering you. After a couple of weeks, he gives up. He starts dating another girl, Debbie. Debbie is a fast-talking, short haired blond. Her eyes are black with mascara. She smokes. You develop a mild crush on her and it becomes another big question mark. Shouldn’t it be Jack you like? 

You are on the cusp of discovering the why—why you don’t understand about dating, why you feel like a misfit at school, why you are afraid. 

 Then it is June, and Debbie says that you and Kathy should come down to the amusement park where she is the food service manager. So you do. She gives you a summer job. Debbie assigns you and Kathy to different areas of the park. You wear a candy-striper type uniform, a short jumper with a white blouse. You work at the grill, bussing tables, filling sodas, cooking hundreds of hamburgers a night until the grease rolls off your eyelashes. The music and flashing lights of the Calypso ride and the Tilt-a-Whirl are a constant backdrop. The grill sells beer, attracting young men and couples on weekend nights. The roughest area of the park. Late one night a drunk man chases you around the tables you are trying to clean. Those at the other tables watch, amused.  

You work with a bunch of inner-city Catholic high school girls. Like Debbie, they wear black mascara and walk fast and smoke. They tell filthy jokes. For some reason—maybe it’s the Catholic thing—they take you in. You are one of them. They roll joints using orange taco papers, immense, awkward joints that they smoke behind the fence, under the clacking ebb and flow of the rickety wooden roller coaster. When you get off work at one or two in the morning, you go with them for pizza and illegal pitchers of beer. You don’t talk much, but you’re starting to have a good time. 

As the weeks go by, they start playing a game. When they go on break, in pairs, they walk through the park hand in hand. They pretend to be lesbians. They laugh, loving the attention they attract. 

A new girl starts about that time. Sandy is an “older” girl, 19. She’s already in college. She has a mop of shiny curls, a charming grin. She carries a paperback around with her, Nietzsche. She’s a psychology student She is instantly, wildly popular. The other girls develop crushes on her. They want her to go on break with them. She laughs, sits down and pulls them onto her lap. They giggle, loving it. Sometimes her boyfriend picks her up from work. She changes clothes, puts on lipstick in the bathroom. She runs to him, lays her head on his chest, smiles up at him. You watch everything, careful to stay invisible.  

One evening all the girls go out after a day shift. You go to the city park, and you all pair off in rented paddle boats. You find yourself with the new girl, out on the lake, paddling in the dark, the park lights intermittently lighting up the ripples in the lake, the water softly lapping around you. The other girls are giggling and shrieking. They run their boats playfully into the one you are in, but after awhile they seem farther and farther away. You realize that Sandy has paddled your boat into the middle of the lake, where it is darkest, and there is no one else around. 

“I think about you all the time,” she says suddenly, softly. You realize that you have been thinking about her too. You tell her that. Then there is nothing else to say, and no time to say it. You paddle back to shore. 

Two days later, well before the park opens, you all go in early to scrub the grease off the walls and tables and floors. Sandy pulls you into her lap. She’s teasing and laughing, like always. You try to laugh too, but you jump up quickly. A couple of girls near you look funny at the two of you. Later in the day, one of them asks Sandy to spend the night, and she accepts. The inviter brags about it to you the next day. She doesn’t know that Sandy also invited you to spend the night at her house, and that you plan to go. 

What I want to tell you is this: you are standing on the edge of knowledge, on the edge of the real world. Your mother has kept you in a cocoon, until now. There is a lot you don’t yet know. Practically everything, in fact. You’re good with books, but you are not a fast learner otherwise. Take it easy. Trust your instincts. In a few weeks, you’re going to learn the difference between love and attraction. Between Kathy and Sandy. It doesn’t matter who accepts you, and who doesn’t. You are about to get your heart broken, more than once, in the next few years. What you don’t know is that your first date with a girl is a small thing compared to everything else that will happen. You don’t know this yet, but 17 is the year when your whole life will change. You don’t know this yet, but you will be able to handle every single thing that comes your way. 

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Comments

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I can just picture Sophie at 17. I just love the way you wrote this. Your last line is stunning._r
What I love about this Open Call is how it has made me realize that the age of seventeen was so critical to everyone...not just me. I have not only enjoyed reading the stories, but I have been enlightened and that is always an unlooked for bonus. Your story is compelling and so very well written....thank you for sharing your story with us and letting me get to know you a little better.
Joan took my word, but I'll forgive her. This was a powerful read. well written, natch, but about so many, many things and unfolded so gradually that I was figuring things out slowly as you did, my eyes opening at the pace you set with your words. I would like more....
Joan, thank for your compliments--it is good to know that you got a picture.

Torman--I agree-it has been enlightening to find that 17 was a pivotal year for many of us, and very interesting to learn about those who have contributed...and thank you.

Ann, thanks very much-I appreciate it. I had thought it was quite simple, but in light of your comment, I see exactly what you mean. It's almost as if I were 17 again, while writing this.
This is very special. Sentimental in all the right aways. I know it's personal -- a letter to yourself -- but it's the kind of illuminating narrative that seventeen-year-olds today need to read.
BV-thanks for your comments, and for stopping by to read this.
A beautifully recalled and recounted remembrance and gentle untangling of the confusion that accompanied your emergence as a woman. (r)
Magic here, from the striking image with which it begins through all the tension, excitement, wary attention, confusion, of the middle to that striking reassurance at the end. This speaks so much, and says it so well.
dirndl skirt--how kind of you--I like the little summary. Thank you.

AtHomePilgrim--I appreciate your comments, and thanks for stopping here.
This is really good. I like the way the story builds along with your your younger self's awareness/consciousness.
This is wonderful, I couldn't stop reading, not only the descriptions & details & emotions of the first part, but the knowing "letter" at the end. Reading this is like going back to 17 again. Our experiences are all different, but also all the same.
This is beautifully written. Makes me want to hear more.
mgnmn, suzie, caroline marie-thanks for your comments.
"you are standing on the edge of knowledge."

I love that line and so many others. You did a great job with this:)
He sits at your feet, touching his shoe to yours. He asks you questions, teases you. Kathy wants him to go away. You like him, but you don’t know why he is bothering you. After a couple of weeks, he gives up. He starts dating another girl, Debbie. Debbie is a fast-talking, short haired blond. Her eyes are black with mascara. She smokes.

Great details in your narrative. R.
Eden Simone-glad you stopped by--it made me go over to read yours, great to discover your story.

Patty Jane Maher-I was surprised to find myself remembering so much, once I started--it was a long time ago.
What is so special about this post is that it will be understood by everyone who reads it. You wrote for all of us, and that is so appreciated. Rated
wendyo-that means a lot to me. Thank you for stopping by.

Emogirl-thanks very much--I appreciate it!
Smooth and sweet and innocent. Very nicely done.-r
I've been away for awhile; preoccupied. Now I'm trying to get over that I wasn't the first to read this. I love it. Love the way you wrote it. If only we could go back and gently lead our young selves. You were perfect at 17 and you are perfect now.
DensieW, I didn't remember how innocent I was at that age until I revisited that time. Thank you.

McKenna, I'm sorry I did not let you know before, but I know that you have been very busy with the new little ones and other things. Wouldn't it be nice to go back in time? Thank you , and thanks again.
I enjoyed reading about Sophie at age 17. What really brings it all home for me is your last line: "You don’t know this yet, but you will be able to handle every single thing that comes your way." By learning that, you have grown wise indeed.
I'm sorry I'm late to this piece. Your words captured with such tangibility. I could hear the giggling and the shrieking.
Real evocative writing. So glad I popped by.
Better late than never to discover a beautifully written post. How true, isn't it that 17 was a threshold to many of us that changed our lives. Only in retrospect could we see and evaluate. Lovely letter to yourself. Rated.
I love this. You were very individual, just like your language. rated.
More men need to read this.
what's the word for sweet-and-sad? that's what i want to say.
like a lot of hurt is gonna come and avoidance is futile.
glad you handled each challenge.
Just found this. Love it.