Day 31

I was 10 the first time someone called me a bitch. It was after school. I was walking home with my friends when this little tow head from the fourth grade class came up behind us. He was one of those kids who packed too much swagger for any 9 year old. I told him to get lost and he said, "Shut up bitch."

I knew that he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box and I outweighed him by a good 20 pounds, but I pummeled him anyway. We were just out of the line of sight of the principal and teachers at the school and right across the Elm Street Baptist Church in full view of Jesus, when I knocked him down, straddled him between by beefy little thighs and slapped his face.

I can still remember the red imprint of my hand on his cheek. It was a mark of vindication and satisfaction. He reluctantly growled, "Sorry" from between clenched teeth before I let him up. As I rolled off him, I remember looking up at the giant cross that embellished the church steeple. I knew that Jesus would not approve.

Perhaps that's why tow-head's teenage sister showed up a few days later, jumping out in front of me in the alley that cut across Elm Street. She pulled me to the ground by my hair and punched me three times in the face before hissing out a warning to stay away from her little brother. It turns out, tow-head came from a long line of bitches.

Since then I have tried to tame my inner bitch. I keep her locked in the dark recesses of my being. I try to make her comfortable by feeding her cookies and speaking to her in soothing tones. She still insists on coming out into the light of day every so often. I must admit, I kind of like the bitch. I mean even with her gnarly locks, her unshaven armpits and her atrocious table manners, she's not all bad. She's honest and she knows how to stand up for herself.

When I write, it is her voice that most wants to be heard. This is a little frightening, especially to my inner nice girl, the one who acts as stewardess to the world: Can I get you a pillow, a cup of tea, a piece of my soul? Anything to make your time with me more comfortable. They're battling it out inside me: the nice girl and the bitch. I put my money on the bitch. She really knows how to kick ass.