All Grown Up

          In the little white house on the corner with the white picket fence, lives a girl, no more than thirteen, up in her room, sitting in front of a vanity. “Do I know you?” Jasmine Turner asks her reflection and then applies a fifth coat of ruby red lipstick. She had snuck into her mothers make up kit and saw the tube, “This would look delicious on my lips,” Jasmine said to herself. For she hoped her lips would drip blood the color of her lipstick, because they said too much. They deserved to bleed. It was unfair to have such pouty and full lips. Lips that looked so adult did nothing but conjure up thoughts of kissing. She was at school last week and saw the boys looking at her lips as she sipped her cherry coke through a straw. The boys looked at her full lips with fascination and wonderment. She knew that her lips made them wonder how it would feel to kiss and be kissed by such grown up looking lips. Such nasty creatures boys are. If they only knew that her lips were the lips of a child’s, they wouldn’t look at them in that way.

          In the little white house on the corner with picture windows and vertical blinds, lives a girl, no more than thirteen, up in her room, sitting in front of a vanity. “Do I know you?” Jasmine Turner asks her reflection as she covers her eye lids with eye shadow for a third time. She had snuck into her mother’s make up kit and saw the burnt orange colored eye shadow, “How splendid a color this would be for me,” Jasmine said to herself. For, she hoped that the visions of men could be burned away from her eyes, because they saw too much. She was old enough to recognize the look men gave her. It was always that same old familiar look. The look a guy dog gives a girl dog before he straddles her and humps with fury. Then the stupid dogs get stuck together and old ladies have to throw hot water on them to get them to separate. Jasmine shivered at the thought. Such nasty creatures men are. If they only knew that her eyes were the eyes of a child, they wouldn’t look into them in that way.

          In the little white house on the corner with the little garden of yellow and red tulips in front of it, was a girl, no more than thirteen, up in her room, sitting in front of a vanity. “Do I know you,” Jasmine Turner asks her reflection as she puts a pair of pearl ear rings on. She had snuck into her mother’s jewelry box and saw them, “How divine would these look on my ears." Jasmine said to herself. For, she hoped that the weight of the pearls would pull down on her ears until she heard no sound. She had already heard too much. She heard the other girls whispering behind her back of how she was too old for the clothes she wore. She’d run by and they’d whisper, “No one wears bobby socks and jumpers at her age.” She’d jump rope and they’d say, “Why doesn’t she ever wear a bra?” One, particularly, horrific afternoon a girl came up to her and handed her a bra the size of Texas, “Quit broadcasting on the B.B.C. Wear a bra for God’s sake.”

          B.B.C,” Jasmine asked.

          “Big Breast Channel,” The girl replied and then burst into laughter. Such mean creatures girls are. If they only knew that they were talking about a child, they wouldn’t speak in that way.

          Jasmine Turner surveys herself in the mirror. She is made up like a sad clown. Her eye lids are covered in enough eye shadow to make Tammy Fay Baker wince. Her cheeks are hidden behind caked up layers of blush, and the blush is buried beneath flesh toned foundation. Her pouty lips smile vacantly and smear lipstick over her porcelain white teeth. One stray curly lock of her shoulders length auburn hair, dangles playfully along the right side of her face. She let the rebellious strand stay there. “Perfect,” Jasmine said to herself. “Look the part.” Then she closes her eyes and imagines her face is hiding somewhere behind this altered version of herself. One day she’d let the world see, but not today. Today she must look the part.

          She reopens her eye lids and stares into a carbon copy of her empathetic brown eyes; and there she sees a wisdom she isn’t supposed to see at thirteen. Ever since she was five years old she saw through old eyes. Her little head, made up in pig tails, bent around a dark corner and her bright eyes peered into a living room. There she saw a frightening sight, her father yelling in a fitful rage at her cowering mother. His voice was so terrible it made little Jasmine shake. Then she closed her eyes and came out of the dark. She can’t remember how she made it to her father’s side. She can’t remember if he had taken her hand, or, she his. What she does remember is that her father wiped away the tears that stained her cheeks and promised not to scare his little girl again.

          Her eyes travel over the foreign face in the mirror, and stops at the pearl ear rings that adorn her ears, ears that understood adult conversations. Jasmine had been awakened so many nights to screaming and yelling in her home that it no longer disturbed her to hear the terrible sounds. She would press her ear to the wall and listen with a morbid curiosity. One night while eavesdropping on her parents she heard her father say he was leaving. Her heart thumped in pain as she burst into her parent’s room yelling at the top of her lungs, “I don’t want you to go daddy!! Please don’t go!” Her father scooped her up in his arms and wiped the tears from her cheeks and promised he would never leave his little girl. That was two years after he had made his first promise.

          The years past, the yelling didn’t stop. But, Jasmine found out she had the ability to quiet them. Whenever she heard the sound of raised voices coming from the other room, she would walk in, and the yelling would stop. Daddy would make a promise to his little girl, and all would be well. At first, Jasmine thought it was magic. She would enter the room and presto, the atmosphere would change. But, later she realized it was because she was daddy’s and mommies little girl. So, she fought to stay that way. She forever, tried to be their little girl. She would keep her hair in pony tails, insist on wearing clothes that made her look young, refuse to wear any kind of make up and always ask for a Barbie doll at Christmas. She even resorted to wrapping ace bandages around her chest at the first signs of growth. Then summer came; and like an unwanted weed within a garden, she sprouted up and out. She was unable to hide her womanly curves. She could only hope that they would go unnoticed. They didn’t. Everyone started looking at her differently. Boys looked with interest; men looked with lust; and girls rolled their eyes with disdain. Jasmine ignored them all. As long as she was her parents little girl, all would be well.

          Then just two days ago, when she turned thirteen years of age, her daddy bought her a silver necklace. Her face couldn’t hide her surprise. He had always gotten her a doll or a stuffed animal for her birthday. He had never gotten her jewelry. Her heart started to thump the way it did the night she heard him say he was leaving. He wrapped the necklace around her neck and then gazed into her eyes of chestnut and said, “You are turning into a very beautiful young lady, Jasmine.” Young lady? That’s when she knew that one day soon, he’d be gone.
“Thank you,” Jasmine whispered and gave an artificial smile. She threw her arms around her father and took a deep breath. Her eye lids fluttered and threatened floods, but she didn’t cry. After all, she was a young lady now.

          “Do I know you?” Jasmine Turner asks her reflection in the mirror as she slips on her silver necklace. She cocks her head to the side and Jasmine and her reflection give each other queer glances. “I suppose I do.” She looks down at her freshly polished fingernails, then runs the tips of her fingers across the note that she had taken off of the refrigerator. “Family meeting,” Jasmine whispered, reading the note aloud. What a befitting irony, she thought. Call a family meeting to break up the family. She audibly sighed when the realization set in that all this would unfold before her eyes. So, she must prepare for it. In fact, everything she was doing right now was in preparation for it.

          She grabs the chiffon evening gown that she had borrowed from her mother’s closet and slips into it. It is a white strapless number with sequence. She was surprised to see how well the gown acquainted itself to her body. It fit like a second skin. “My God, look at my breasts,” she says, while scrutinizing herself in the mirror. For the first time in her life she wasn’t hiding them. The gown had them on display. She thought about putting on something a little less revealing, then her resolve kicked in, “Look the part.” She told herself. Her eyes voyeuristically gazed over her own body. They saw full and round breasts, admired a flat stomach, and noticed flaring hips. Even with her wearing this hideous make up, Jasmine definitely looked the part. Satisfied with her efforts, Jasmine allowed her mind to forecast the evening’s events.

          She’d come downstairs to her mother sitting down on the green sofa in the family room. Her mother would encourage her to sit next to her. Then she’ll take her arm and wrap it around her for support. “Your father has something to tell you.” She’ll say in a grave tone. Then she’ll hear her father crack his knuckles and wring his hands together like he always does just before he has something important to say.

          “Jasmine,” he’ll say. “Your mother and I have some disturbing news.” That will be about as far as he’ll get before Jasmine tells them of her own news.
Jasmine Turner takes one last look in the mirror before straightening the chiffon gown and going downstairs. She finds her mother sitting on the sofa and her father standing over by the fire place. She can tell by the simultaneous mouths dropping that they noticed her at the same time. Empowered by their reaction, Jasmine walks to the middle of the room and brings the meeting to order.

          “I know why you two called this family meeting here tonight. You are going to break up.” Her father tries to over talk her, but she waves him off. She was in charge now. “I’ve waited practically all my life for this day. It has been like a cloud hovering over my head ever since I can remember. I guess, in some ways, it’s liberating to have it finally here. But, I must say, I would rather have the cloud. So, therefore, I have decided to give you two a parting gift to remember me by. May it be as good to you, as it was too me. ” Jasmine raises her arms to the side and turns for them to see their little girl. “She is gone.”

          Those were the last words little Jasmine said. She turned and promptly left her parents alone on the couch. “Meeting adjourned,” she whispers to herself then walks out of the front door. In the little white house on the corner with the picket fence, picture windows, vertical blinds, and garden of tulips, was a couple, sitting in their family room, wondering to themselves, when did their little girl, no more than thirteen, grow up.