Young Adult Female Sexuality Development

Young Adult Female Sexuality Development: Examination of Young Adult Literature as Sexual Media Source

Sidney Sivill

Southeast Community College

Abstract

Young Adult Literature (YAL) holds potential to fill in the emotional gap in sexual education left between the charts in schools and objectification in media because of young adult readers’ capability to connect to literature on an emotional level. YAL is a media source commonly overlooked when examining and analyzing sexual content of media. YAL is a media source that many young adults find themselves exposed to along with other various forms of media. Female development of sexuality is increasingly important to analyze due to their objectification in media. Three female protagonists of contemporary young adult fantasy literature are analyzed: Bella (Meyer, 2005), Tiger Lily (Anderson, 2012), and Katsa (Cashore, 2008). Significance of characters’ roles and development as females examined.

Introduction

            Media in the United States is saturated with sexual content. Much research has been conducted on Young Adults who are constantly bombarded with portrayals of sex and sexuality through music, movies, television, and the internet. A source of media not commonly considered during such research endeavors is the compelling branch of media commonly consumed by Young Adults, currently referred to as Young Adult Literature (YAL). Because of the emotional gap left between young adults’ sex education and the highly sexualized content of mass media, the development of protagonists’ sexuality in YAL holds significance to the identity development of young adults. It is particularly important to examine portrayals of female sexuality in media in a culture so focused on beauty and gender roles. YAL is an often-overlooked source of media that portrays female sexuality in many different ways and has the potential to teach young adults about female roles.

Sex and the Media

            Literature is not often discussed as a form of media where research is concerned. Such oversight does not detract from the significance YAL has for its consumers, though. Many of the concepts applied to media such as movies and television, and especially internet sources, apply to YAL.

Consumption

            Young adults seemingly flock to what many adults view as “unsavory” sources of sexual information. Many homes have constant connection to the internet and receive hundreds of cable channels. Lightly censored radio stations blare from the speakers of many teen hangouts. In general, an American household consumes six to seven hours of television, containing seventy to ninety commercials a day (Shelov & Bar-on, 1995). Even with today’s standard of strict parental controls, most young adults frequently come across some form of media containing sexual references.

Young adults seek out media diets that fit their specific emotional needs and pick television shows that nurture good moods and battle against bad moods (Vandenbosch & Eggermont, 2011). When this good mood media contains stereotypical sexual roles, young adults’ development of sexual identity and ideals may be negatively impacted (Vandenbosch & Eggermont, 2011). Not all young adults consume sexuality portrayed in media mindlessly. Some young adults specifically seek out sexual media in attempt to construct their personal sexual identities (Schooler, Tolman, Sorsoli, & Kim, 2009). Any ideas or concepts portrayed in media are open to interpretation, though. Young adults interpret what they see or hear based on their values, gender, experiences, race, ethnicity, and religious views (Keller & Brown, 2002). Young adults decide what type of media they consume and how media is processed.

While young adults may not always purposely turn toward media for information about sex, they are still learning about “romantic” interactions from television, music, and the internet. Young adults spend an immense amount time immersed in media, but very few claim to have learned about sexual responsibility from such sources (Keller & Brown, 2002). Though young adults do not acknowledge absorbing information on sexuality from media, there is no doubt that many of America’s current social ideals are spread to the population through media. In October of 2004, FOX network was fined $1.2 million for a scene in which “party-goers licked whipped cream from strippers’ bodies in a sexually suggestive manner,” (Schooler, Tolman, Sorsoli, & Kim, 2009). Allowing women to be objectified in such a manner on national television is a far cry from representing sexuality in a responsible manner. Portrayals of female objectification saturate the media.

Significance to Sexual Education

Sex talks provided by parents and teachers are often pegged as awkward and cold. Young adults are shown maps of the reproductive organs and told to memorize the many components of male and female genitalia. Young adults are then given a sheet of paper listing contraceptive options on one side and a chart about STIs (sexually transmitted infections) on the other. At the conclusion of such classes, a few adolescents are simply told to not have sex until they are forty years old. Many young adults do not even get the chance to hear about the “juicy” parts. Their wholesome and loving parents skip all the nonsense and incessantly preach chastity. Though adults preach of sexual action versus sexual inaction, sexual interaction is not discussed by the very people these adolescents are expected to turn to for guidance. Once the blushing and hushed giggling in health class is over, kids turn to their comfort zones. They browse the internet, chat with their peers, and absorb the plotlines of their favorite soaps and reality television shows.

Application to YAL

            Young adults theoretically absorb literature in the same way they do other forms of media. YAL in particular deals with subjects closely tied to sexual development. Development of identity is a theme commonly found in most YAL (Attebery, 1987). Just as in other forms of media, the topic of sexuality is relatively new to literature aimed toward young adults. It is a theme that has matured from basic warnings against sexual acts into an emotionally involved development of identity (Cart, 2010).

            As with other forms of media, young adults consume YAL that reflects their interests and emotional needs. The difference between usual forms of media and YAL is the method in which young adult consumers are able to connect to the consumed material. Protagonists in YAL are often developed in a manner in which young adults can connect to them on an emotional level. A character’s innermost thoughts are often literally spelled out, rather than vaguely visually portrayed and left to interpretation. There are endless numbers of themes to draw in young adult readers. As a theme in YAL, sexuality can be portrayed with emotional depth and perspective.

            Therein lies the importance of sexuality in YAL. YAL is a form of media that young adults are capable of connecting to on a much deeper level than other forms of media. The way sexuality is portrayed becomes a responsibility on the author’s part to depict in a realistic and non-sexist manner. Though masculinity is certainly a subject worth examining, the definition of masculinity hinges on how female sexuality and identity are depicted. Literature of merit must locate the fine line between cultural and ethical accuracy. Women are objectified in American media, developing a culture of sexualized women. On the other hand, women have become more than just objects in society. Women are flooding educational institutions and comprise a large part of the workforce. It is important in the face of whipped-cream doused strippers for young adult females to be shown they are comprised of more than just their bodies. Young girls must understand that their existence is not defined by the males in their lives.

Literature Analysis

            YAL provides an outlet for young adults to connect to characters and situations. There is a high level of emotional appeal in literature. The portrayal of sex and sexuality are important aspects of YAL, especially in our sex-saturated media-driven American culture. It is especially important to analyze female roles in YAL due to the highly biased and sexualized portrayals of women in commonly consumed forms of media.

            Though much of my research pertains to all YAL in general, I have attempted to focus on the female protagonists’ roles in young adult fantasy. Fantasy subgenre was chosen due to the prevalence of male hero roles in young adult fantasy. Another important deciding factor for young adult fantasy subgenre was the necessity to provide real characters. Because fantasy itself is a difficult genre to connect to, the realness of the characters’ emotions is of great importance (Stephens, 2013). In order for readers to feel connected to magical realms or abilities, there must be a factor with which they can identify with.

Female protagonists in Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, Tiger Lily by Jodi Lynn Anderson, and Graceling by Kristin Cashore are examined and applied to critical literary analysis. These works of young adult fantasy were chosen based on the presence of female protagonists and the differences in how their development is portrayed. Three female development roles have been fabricated for the purposes of this report: The mother/wife role, the wildchild role, and the Iceberg role. Role classification system is a summarization of character development highlights used for the purposes of this report and may not be applicable to all female protagonists. Knowledge of young adult fantasy gathered over years of reading young adult fantasy literature incorporated.

Mother/Wife Role

            A female role commonly portrayed in young adult fantasy literature is the mother/wife role. This role is defined by the protagonist’s identity development and personal fulfillment relying upon the provision of caregiving. Protagonist generally begins in a state of low self-esteem during childhood. Throughout the novel, the mother/wife character slowly develops an identity and self-esteem through others by sacrificing and caregiving. Usually, this process is achieved through an attempt to emotionally heal or physically care for a love interest. Occasionally the young female protagonist will achieve this role by additionally or alternatively taking on the responsibility of fostering a younger child. By caring and sacrificing for others, the protagonist finds self-worth.

            The sexual role of a mother/wife character tends to be on the submissive or passive side. Male counterpart defines the mother/wife character’s existence, which includes her sexual roles. She is wanted by the male because she is beautiful, kind, and giving. Giving, by nature, leads others to take. Thus the mother/wife character’s role in turn defines her male counterpart’s masculinity.

            The greatest example of the mother/wife character role is Bella Swan in Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. Bella’s story begins as she is transferring from one broken family home to another. Throughout the series, Bella battles deeply seeded insecurities. These insecurities are only ever temporarily overcome through sacrifices made to care for her beloved, Edward Cullen. In the final book, Bella finally finds fulfillment only after the physical and emotional transformation brought about by marriage and becoming a mother.

            Anna Silver points out that Twilight is abstinence themed, though the lack of sex before marriage is entirely dictated by Edward and his urge to protect Bella (Silver, Twilight is not Good for Maidens: Gender, Sexuality, and the family in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series, 2010). Remaining chaste is an important duty for the mother/wife character. It proves she is worthy of her role, untainted by the sins of sex.  

Wildchild Role

            Usually younger, the wildchild female protagonist does not seem to rely upon love. Such characters are usually portrayed as tough and relatively unemotional. Wildchild characters do not have grand love affairs. When a love interest is introduced, the focus of the relationship is adventure and wild abandon. The relationship develops as more of an innate friendship or kinship because the pair often shares the same wild streak. Such a relationship often portrays a level of equality and respect between the wildchild and her beloved. Carefree and wild exterior is usually a façade covering a complex and emotional individual.

            On the surface, the wildchild may seem cold and uncaring, but are often more emotionally complex than mother/wife protagonists. The hardness generally stems from some form of past abuse or ostracism. Such emotional complexities slowly emerge throughout the storyline, becoming more obvious as the character is developed. Sexuality of a wildchild is a slow melting of a hard shell, sometimes dropping off before the sexual role is fully realized. Such characters’ sexual identity development may be catalyzed by a male love interest. Wild child characters tend to hold agency over their developing sexualities, though. Due to their tendency toward inner emotional turmoil, sexual identity grows and moves with their personal internal battles.

            Tiger Lily by Jodi Lynn Anderson provides a sample of such a wildchild. Tiger Lily is portrayed as hard and unwelcoming to both friendship and emotion. This cold shell was presumably instigated by the abuse of her childhood peers and suspicious nature of her community. As a wildchild, Tiger Lily is curious and adventurous. She is oblivious to the loving regard of her best friend. Though she pretends it does not exist, she experiences body image issues and compares herself to peers more physically developed than herself. Tiger Lily is also shamed by comparisons made by the lost boys to the memories of far more feminine English girls.

            Tiger Lily’s sexual development coincides with her meeting and developing a relationship with Peter Pan. Their relationship is one of adventure and exploration, never surpassing kissing and touching. Tiger Lily’s sexual development is portrayed on an emotional level. She becomes more conscious of herself both physically and emotionally. By the end of her story, Tiger Lily realizes the complexities of love and relationships through loss, duty of marriage, and friendship. Though the experiences were external in nature, Tiger Lily relied on her perceptions and internal ideas to draw her own conclusions on life and love.

Iceberg Role

            Final role to be examined is perhaps a more sexualized combination of the mother/wife and wildchild roles. The iceberg is portrayed as strong and unneeding. Self-sufficient, this character is portrayed as the strongest of the three categories. Iceberg characters are shown as needing the love of another to complete them partway through their personal sagas. Female icebergs tend to unknowingly drift into the realm of love, often temporarily mourning their perceived loss of individuality. Such characters’ sexuality is typically defined quickly by a single moment or quick succession of events. Icebergs transform from relatively androgynous, sexless beings to fulfilled sexual beings in a matter of chapters. Speedy sexual development of Iceberg female protagonists is at least slightly explicit in nature. The heat of love and desire melts the iceberg into a softer, and perhaps more relatable, character.

            Katsa of Kristin Cashore’s Graceling could be considered an iceberg female protagonist. Katsa views herself as a hardened tool to be used only as a weapon. Though she has friends, romantic love is a laughable concept to the icy girl. She has decided against ever having children and assumes a loveless future.

            Not far into Katsa’s tale, she becomes enchanted by a charming, though not entirely clichéd, prince named Po. She eventually journeys away from her home with Po after being ostracized from the kingdom by her uncle, the king. Shortly into their journey, they find love for one another and rather quickly delve into the physical aspects of a young adult relationship. Of the three novels examined, Graceling is the only literature in which a character uses a form of birth control. Though Katsa continues to be portrayed as a strong female, it is not until after she experiences love from a male that she feels fulfilled and accepts herself. This self-acceptance occurs within one chapter of losing her virginity to Prince Po.

            Further into the novel, Katsa must leave Prince Po behind and care for a small child in dangerous terrain. During this time, she continues to develop her identity by becoming a mother type protector. Once again, Katsa must rely on an external condition to further develop her identity and sense of self-worth. It takes both a lover and a child to completely melt the iceberg.

Discussion

            Three female protagonist roles were chosen to categorize sexuality development of characters in young adult fantasy. The mother/wife is family-oriented and practices abstinence. Wildchild develops sexual identity through kinship, allowing her to heal emotionally and further develop a sense of identity. Finally, the iceberg develops her sexual identity through realization that self-reliance is not entirely fulfilling. Similar female fantasy literature roles are defined by Deirdre Baker in relation to male hero counterparts: Mother, wife, seducer, beloved, and victim or damsel in distress (Baker, 2006). These roles were defined for female accessories to male heroes, though. Baker (2006)claims, “…fantasy, epic fantasy above all, has been the land of the male hero,” and further explains that female roles in fantasy literature are commonly reduced to that of a sidekick.

Sidekickery

            Bella’s character does seem to act as a sidekick whenever there is trouble. Even Tiger Lily tags along as Peter’s sidekick on an adventure, though it is not a role she reverts to with any frequency. Katsa remains the heroine protagonist throughout Graceling, frequently being presented as equal to, even greater than, Prince Po. Whether or not the female protagonist assumes the role of a sidekick may be reflective of her sexual development. It seems that the more a female character reverts to the sidekick role, the more passive her sexuality is.

            Passive sidekicks allow their male counterpart to dictate the physical nature of sexuality development. Edward is the ruling force behind Bella’s abstinence in Twilight (Silver, Twilight is not Good for Maidens: Gender, Sexuality, and the family in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series, 2010). Bella has placed her sexual development into the hands of her beloved, making her a passive participant in her own sexual identity development.

Tiger Lily and Peter’s relationship remains modest. Because friendship is the main force behind their relationship, they remain on equal grounds. Tiger Lily develops a sense of being female because of the developing relationship, but remains relatively indifferent to any sexual aspects. She is indifferent to much of her sexual development, other than bodily changes she notices in other girls, in the face of her emotional development.

Graceling’s Katsa is more active in her own sexual identity development. Prince Po causes her to realize there is potential for her to develop a sexual identity, but she makes her own decisions. She often goes off on her own to consider who she is in relation to Po. Katsa is even conscious enough of her own goals and needs to use a form of birth control. Making such difficult decisions without pushy guidance from Po makes Katsa an active participant to her own sexual identity.

Body Image

            Much of sexual identity development has to do with emotional changes. Body image also plays an important role in YAL, though (Younger, 2003). Young adults are constantly bombarded with images of heavily made-up and altered women. One only needs to log in to Facebook or turn on the television to view the plethora of flawless models and actresses. Some young adult fantasy female protagonists even dress in a masculine manner to be able to enter the male realm where they are able to prove themselves (Baker, 2006).

            Bella is portrayed as klutzy and insecure (Silver, Twilight is not Good for Maidens: Gender, Sexuality, and the family in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series, 2010). She dresses herself rather simply in generic teenage garb. In Twilight, Bella describes herself as what could be assumed to be an average teenage girl. She is thin and pale, which is not exactly an accepted American average. The tone she uses to describe herself, “physically, I’d never fit in anywhere,” (p. 10)… is self-condescending. Bella, the motherly and passive sidekick protagonist, has a slew of physical insecurities. Many young women are familiar with such deep insecurities. Bella does not resolve her physical insecurities in a realistic manner, though. It takes a magical transformation for her to feel comfortable in her already near-perfect appearance.

            Wild Tiger Lily is not quite as insecure in her own body. Her body is perfectly matched to her love of tromping through the forest and swimming. Tiger Lily is strong and capable. She is only fifteen and not very far into her physical development, though. Tiger Lily’s physical insecurities are highlighted when the lost boys comment on her unfeminine differences. “A blush ran across Tiger Lily’s face, though she kept her gaze even. She thought of the photos of the English ladies she’d seen, smooth and white, and for a moment, it made her sad,” (p.84). This is an accurate portrayal of many young women’s physical insecurities. Tiger Lily’s body image insecurities could match that of any average young adult female.

            Katsa in Graceling is an anomaly. She seems to have no physical insecurities other than wishing she were less noticeable. She begins with long dark hair that she longs to cut off, and eventually does to make it easier to manage during her travels. Other than her hair, eyes, and general fitness level, the reader is left to assume much of Katsa’s physicality. She is unconcerned with her appearance and finds it silly when her handmaid attempts to persuade her to show off her looks to obtain a suitor. Katsa the iceberg is strong and logical, which is commonly considered a male trait in fantasy literature (Attebery, 1987). This is not an accurate portrayal of contemporary young adult females, though it has potential to set a good example.

Motivations

            In order to develop realistic young adult characters, they must have motivation behind their actions and development. Emotional realness of characters is defined by their problems, faults, and virtues (Stephens, 2013). Problems, faults and virtues are all root motivations behind protagonists’ development. McKinley provides more specific examples of young adult female protagonists’ sexual motivations. Only one of the protagonists examined has sex before the halfway point in her story. Bella and Tiger Lily do not have sex until near the end of their sagas, and Tiger Lily’s is only assumed by a brief description of her having entered motherhood. Sexual motivations can be applied to the way in which the young women’s relationships and internal sexual identity develop, though. The sexual motivations found in YAL have been summed up to self-esteem, feeling alive or filling a void, asserting power or reinforcing identity, fear of losing a connection, and love (McKinley, 2011).

            Bella’s motivation seems to stem from quite a few places. Bella not only loves Edward, but has grown attached to his family (Silver, Twilight is not Good for Maidens: Gender, Sexuality, and the family in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series, 2010). Sex, especially used as a procreational tool, could be viewed as a method to create a permanent connection to a family she is otherwise unbound to. Bella also requires Edward’s romantic regard to boost her self-esteem. Bella’s identity as Edward’s wife, and her future identity as a mother, is reinforced by sexual contact.

            Tiger Lily uses Peter Pan’s regard as a boost for her strangled self-esteem. She perhaps even uses romantic correspondence to fill a void created by her stigmatized social status in her community. Tiger Lily is also motivated by love, though some aspects of her sexual identity are developed through a sense of duty to ritual.

            Katsa’s motivations stem from love, the filling of a void, and self-esteem. In Katsa’s case, love and the filling of a void seem to be intertwined. Her character must recognize and accept romantic love in order for her to be able to acknowledge a void had even existed. Katsa is also not able to recognize her own worth until it is shown to her by Prince Po. Her emotional self-esteem was dependent upon romantic interaction, though not quite a motivator to seek it.

            Young adults can empathize with these motivations. Therefore, it can be inferred that all three characters’ sexual identity development can be considered realistically portrayed. Though readers may have difficulty connecting to certain situations in fantasy literature, the emotional development of the characters is familiar to young adult readers (Stephens, 2013).

Conclusion

            Young adults are often left with a large gap in their sexual education. In the midst of nearly constant bombardment of commonly sexualized mass media, they are shown anatomical diagrams and politely asked not to have sex. This can leave young adults parched for the emotional content necessary to make relevant connections to their own lives and relationships. YAL holds a great potential to fill in the emotional gap left by dry education and sexualized media because of the depth in which readers can connect to the characters and situations.

            Female sexuality is an increasingly skewed concept in media. Women are commonly objectified, which may have a detrimental effect on young adults’ perception of both femininity and masculinity. By analyzing three young adult fantasy novels, I have discovered that YAL develops sexuality in a variety of ways. Some methods, such as Twilight’s male-defined passive role, may not be the best portrayal. All three novels included attributes that created a realistic approach to sexuality development, though. Whether young adults choose to remain chaste, run wild, or develop agency, YAL provides a realistic emotional perspective that readers are able to connect to.

References

Anderson, J. L. (2012). Tiger Lily. New York: Harper Teen.

Attebery, B. (1987). Women's Coming of Age in Fantasy, Extrapolation. The Kent State University Press.

Baker, D. F. (2006). What We Found on our Journey Through Fantasy Land. Children's Literature in Education, 37(3), 237-251.

Cart, M. (2010). Young Adult Literature: From Romance to Realism. Chicago: American Library Association.

Cashore, K. (2008). Graceling. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Keller, S. N., & Brown, J. D. (2002). Media Interventions to Promote Responsible Sexual Behavior. Journal of Sex Research, 39(1), 57-72.

McKinley, C. (2011). Beyond Forever: The Next Generation of Young Women Protagonists' Sexual Motivations in Contemporary Young Adult Novels. Young Adult Library Services, 38-46.

Meyer, S. (2005). Twilight. New York: Little Brown and Company.

Schooler, D., Tolman, D. L., Sorsoli, C. L., & Kim, J. L. (2009). Beyond Exposure: A Person-Oriented Approach to Adolescent Media Diets. Journal of Research on Adolescence, 19(3), 484-508.

Shelov, S., & Bar-on, M. (1995). Sexuality, Contraception, and the Media. Pediatrics, 95(2), 298.

Silver, A. (2010). Twilight is not Good for Maidens: Gender, Sexuality, and the family in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series. Studies in the Novel, 42(1,2), 121-138.

Stephens, J. (2013). On Fantasy. Journal of Children's Literature, 39(1), 42-46.

Vandenbosch, L., & Eggermont, S. (2011). Temptation Island, The Bachelor, Joe Millionaire: A Prospective Cohort Study on the Role of Romantically Themed Reality Television in Adolescents' Sexual Development. Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, 55(4), 563-580.

Younger, B. (2003). Pleasure, Pain, and the Power of Being Thin: Female Sexuality in Young Adult Literature. NWSA Journal, 15(2), 45-56.

Gorged

Sometimes I feel as though my emotions are smothering me.

A vast array of thoughts and feelings seeping into every crevice. Bleeding into my chest and congealing along my diaphragm. A cacophony that crawls up my esophagus. I need to scream but I'm drowning and gagging all at once on this beautifully caustic tar made of dreams and desperation. Nothing escapes.

I need to run, to wail, to dance, to sing, to crawl into some desolate cave inside myself for shelter. My body feels too small to contain the terrifying universe expanding within me. Overwhelmed by this incessant itch to entrench my fingers between the bars of this cage and tear open my chest. To cast off this oppressive flesh casing and be capable of bearing the intensity of this soul.

How did I manage to become this creature with emotional nerve endings reaching so desperately outwards? This exposed network of hypersensitive receptors drink and drink and drink like tangled roots. I need a valve, a drought, a long cold winter of hibernation, anything to help purge before I burst at the seams.

Tastes Like Satire (RD)

            Whoever said “Don't buy your food where you buy your gas [because] you will not find anything good there,” (Michael Pollan) could not possibly have ever experienced the nirvana of consuming a convenience store roast beef sandwich. The entire process is riveting and awe-inducing. The saga begins the moment the “ding” of the door chime announces my presence to the convenience store clerk and ends with a sigh of sated contentment. A roast beef sandwich purchased from a gas station shop is perhaps the most immaculate sandwich ever conceived. The purchasing procedure, the preparation of the sandwich, and the consumption all add up to an absolutely sublime event.

            The grand roast beef sandwich pilgrimage begins as my left foot lands on the sticky tile of the gas station shop. The ambrosial aromas of cleaning agents caress my nostrils as I stroll toward the coolers in the back of the store. The enthusiastic attendant calls to me with her usual silvery greeting, “Welcome to Kwik Shop.” After I've walked through an isle filled with cheerfully colorful packaged goods, I reach my hand out to grasp the delightfully chilly cooler door handle. A light brush of arctic air induces goose bumps on my arms as it dances across my skin. Hungry butterflies erupt in my stomach when my eyes alight on their goal; the glorious roast beef and American cheese hoagie. I feel a wave of anticipation while trying to decipher a partially smeared expiration date after pulling one from the shelf. “Huzzah!” This one is good for another twelve hours! My ears delight at the sweet tinkling of the door chime as a customer enters the shop. The cooler door produces a delicious “thwump” as I make my way triumphantly to the front counter. Once in line, I am blessed with ten glorious minutes to savor the hunger and zeal building in my gut as an elderly woman stews over her lottery ticket purchases at the register. It is soon my turn at the register, so I pull a crumpled five dollar bill out of my wallet, hand it to the cashier, and scamper out of the convenience store. I practically fly home in my beat up almost-blue Grand Caravan. The sandwich calls to me from the passenger seat, “Lather me in mustard and devour me, Sidney,” (convenience store roast beef sandwich). Soon, mister sandwich. Soon.

            I cradle the sandwich as I leap down the creaky stairs into my kitchen once I've arrived home. The plastic wrapping protests in a series of loud crinkles as I tear through it. I ceremoniously place the freed roast beef hoagie on my favorite green Keroppi plate. I am once again greeted by a gust of cold air as I rifle through the fridge for mustard and lettuce. I pull the head of lettuce from the crisper and locate the mustard on the door shelf. Placing these items to the side, I return to my sandwich. I lay my hand on top of the deliciously dried up hoagie crust. I slowly peel it away to reveal a glorious sight; the perfect slice of cheese. The slice of American cheese has a soft creamy center and hard, smooth edges. The color palette of yellows and oranges is magnificent to behold. The luscious scent of aged roast beef and cheese fondles my nose as I properly rearrange them. Once the slick cheese and the crumbly roast beef are in their proper places, I grab the mustard that was set off to the side. After a good vigorous shaking, I flick the dry crust off the tip with my thumbnail. I unscrew the top and tip the barrel-shaped bottle upside down over the cheese. I masterfully create a depiction of an emperor penguin with the mustard. After my masterpiece “penguin in mustard” is complete, I snatch up the head of lettuce. I tear away the least wilted leaf, fold the damp leaf neatly, and carefully place it over the mustard penguin. My sandwich now garnished, I replace the crispy top half of the hoagie. I step back to admire the alluring sandwich. I consider how wonderful the medley of flavors and textures will be. The concept is absolutely mouthwatering. “It is time, mister sandwich,” I croon.

            I lean back into my plush red couch, Keroppi plate in hand. This is the moment, the culmination of the anticipation. I lightly grip the sandwich with my right hand while I support the moist, supple bottom half with my left. The sharp tangy scent of mustard wafts towards my nostrils as I guide the sandwich to my lips. My top teeth crunch through the top layer of sandwich while my bottom teeth slide through the moist bottom. A jumble of textures and tastes bombard my senses. There is the chewy salty edge of the cheese, closely followed by creamier richer cheese. The heavily marbled roast beef crumbles apart easily and spreads its tart meaty flavor to the furthest reaches of my palate. The crunchy top hoagie grazes the roof of my mouth while the moist bottom glues the conglomeration together.  The sharp bite of mustard permeates through the bread, meat, and cheese. The lettuce adds a snippet of fibrous texture to the overall consistency. I savor the small slivers of heavily peppered roast beef that have wedged themselves into small crevices throughout my mouth.  I force myself to save half of the sandwich so I may enjoy it again later, though. The roast beef hoagie is far too decadent to eat in one sitting because it is the most glorious combination of flavors and textures I have ever experienced. The moisture of the sandwich is balanced by the combination of crispy and mushy bread. The saturated center of the cheese adds creaminess while the rubbery edges enhance the texture. The powerful tartness of the mustard is truly the star of the roast beef sandwich because its strong presence ties all the milder flavors together. This roast beef sandwich was absolutely transcendent.

            I have to admit to the skepticism I felt the first time I purchased a convenience store roast beef sandwich. I was sure it would be flavorless and bland. There was no doubt that the sandwich would be uniform and unappealing. Oh how wrong I was. This roast beef sandwich contains complex flavors and textures normally only found within the confines of upscale restaurants. Even the process of obtaining and preparing the glorious sandwich is incredible. The actual consumption is pure bliss. There could be nothing more satisfying than a convenience store roast beef hoagie with cheese. Remember this roast beef sandwich the next time you find your stomach rumbling on a road trip. This sophisticated delicacy will surely sate your appetite.

Confessional

Words have always held power for me. The English language contains a cacophony of synonyms that all have slightly different meanings. I am always searching for mot juste, the perfect word, to describe. Rape is a hard word for me. As is molestation. There was a lack of violence. There was youth, and on one occasion, there was intoxication. Consent, or lack thereof, is the determining factor behind rape and molestation. I never said no. I do not remember saying no. That time I remember, I feel like my body was screaming no. There was no verbal indication that I did not want what was happening. So I have a hard time saying, “I was raped.”

Except that first time I tried to open up to a man I was interested in becoming intimate with. I did not use the word rape, though. The story I wanted to share was about the first transgression, the molestation. I said the words. It was the first time I had ever spoken them out loud.

“I was molested.”

For several glowing moments, it felt so good spilling out of me. I had told myself over and over that it was not unwarranted. That my feelings, anxiety, and depression stemming from that memory were capricious. In this moment, I had allowed myself to not be the one at fault. I had allowed those feelings authenticity. A momentary gasp of relief.

Until he said it. I cannot remember the exact words. Memory is fickle. Something along the lines of, “It seems like every girl has been molested these days. I’m tired of hearing about it.” So nonchalant, with just a crust of annoyance. The story burning on the tip of my tongue instantly fizzled away to nothing. My heart plummeted back down to that dark place. Immediately returned to feeling as though my emotional reaction was disproportionate. It felt like being release from a cage only to be instantly returned by an amused guard.

For years and years I have been my own rapist. I should want this. This is what makes me valuable. I should want this. I can want this.

Want this.

So many times I have felt embarrassed because of bursting into tears during intimate moments. Before, during, or after. I was embarrassed because I did not want it, felt I should have, but could not make myself. Embarrassed because I had pretended to want even when I did not. Made men, who most of the time genuinely cared about me in some capacity, feel as though they had done something wrong. Once, one told me he felt as though he had raped me. Apologized with terror-stricken eyes even though I explained I was just screwed up.

It was not rape. I should have wanted it. I did not say no, so I wanted it. I should not feel this way. There was flirting and smiling. Touching. I should want this. I cannot. I cannot say no. It catches in my throat every time. I did not mean to cheat that time. I sent the wrong message and could not say no because it was my fault. All those times feeling guilty for not wanting, allowing it, and having to run away. I cannot look them in the eye even though they are not the rapist. I am. Slowly hollowing myself out one fuck at a time.

I remember the faces and names of the men who initially molested me. I still have a hard time saying rape. I have forgiven them. What happened was wrong, but I can forgive. There is no forgiveness in my heart for that faceless person, lost to the haze of memory, who took away my capability to not blame myself, though.

So much harder than that is finding forgiveness for myself. There has been progress. There is a lot to forgive, though. People I have hurt through hurting myself. Memories I wish I did not have. Years of valuing myself for only my body and how I used it. Years of looking for something beautiful, for friendship, only to force its destruction by not being able to say, “No, I’m not ready yet.” Over and over again. Moments of allowing my unease to project on the ones who would never had hurt me in that way.

I realize this piece of writing contains what can be considered “flawed logic.” I understand that I was raped and there is a large variety of both physical and emotional reactions to being molested and raped. My reaction is likely not out of the ordinary. The blame I still hold toward myself is not for the initial transgressions. It is for holding onto the words of one boy in the face of so many friends, teachers, and mentors practically screaming the exact opposite words. It is blame for allowing myself to become my own rapist over and over. It is for losing so many friends because I fucked them, thinking it was my only worth. It is a huge wave of guilt because I am such a strong woman until I need to say no.

I truly wanted to end this piece on a note of strength. I am a strong woman. The difficulty is that I cannot pretend that I have overcome this. Every day, there is a struggle in some part of my mind. Sometimes I make a connection with someone, and then entirely cut off contact with them out of some sense of panic. I will be touching a friend, cuddling perhaps, then recall with a sense of dread that this sort of contact is not socially acceptable unless one plans on taking their clothes off by the end of the night. Smiles are wiped from my face as I realize a grin paired with eye contact might send the wrong message. I cannot send the wrong message. Because it is still so hard for me to say no. I still choke on that single syllable. This does not end on a strong note because I am not afraid of men’s advances, but of my own silence. This does not end on a strong note because I still destroy beautiful things.

(RD) Medicine Bag

Rough Draft
Assignment for Young Adult Literature

To fulfill the requirements of the assignment, real experiences/objects may have been altered. Not an academic piece.

 

 

A beautiful pouch, she claimed. Soft song erupting from bells adorning soft leather straps as she runs her fingers over the dark softness.

It is not always beautiful. My heart is in that bag.

My medicine bag.

What do I mean?

Pieces of my soul attached to significant moments since my coming of age.

I cannot show you, but understand that no one’s soul is without both darkness and light.

 

Later I dig my finger into the soft suede to remember what the pouch contains. A light caress of tanned hide strokes my nostrils. Pulling the contents out one-by-one, a metallic stench mingles with that of the satiny leather.

Fingers coax out two small, tinkling brass spheres. They warm quickly to the touch, soak up energy like shining sponges. Fairy bells. Amusing trinkets meant to attract Fae magic. Everyone has a wish. Rolling along my palm, hot and sparkling like shooting stars. Listening to the chimes peal and feeling, deep down, my wishes sigh in hope. Hope is a personal magic.

Diving again.

Precariously balanced between two fingers are coins once dull but scrubbed bare of decades of grime. One found discarded on a sidewalk, burning hot in the sun. Cool now, but inching towards the temperature of my palm. The other found abandoned atop a vending machine filled with fragile plastic toys. Most likely left because of its indeterminate origins. A Nepalese Rupee, perhaps. Both coins, foreign and domestic, stain my fingers with an acrid metallic scent. Just the same as any other coin. Objects that have been abandoned, yet retained their sameness. An item is always worth something to someone. There is always someone willing to pick up someone else’s refuse. Make it shine. Give it a purpose. My coins shine.

My ears encounter the warm rasp of paper sliding against itself. A clichéd slip of paper once excavated from within decimated cookie crumbs. “One cannot know the best that is in him.” Deeper than that: what is good one moment may over-ripen in the next. What is good to one may be blasphemy to another. What is good? This smudged and faded slip of paper is introspection. A sentence that almost demands one to stop looking, but lends a feeling of being challenged to look deeper. Rounded corners flicked too many times by mindless fidgeting, deep in thought. Selfless good or searching for oneself in another. Smudged fingerprints, trying to clear away old words to reveal the right answer. Little slip of paper that does not know what is good any better than me, but lends hope that someone does.

Bunched curl of downy hair wraps around my finger like a small hand searching for reassurance. Slightly different than the wispy dark strands I met after nine month of arduous waiting. The month my heart stopped beating, held frozen by fear, anxiety, despair, and exhaustion. Those wisps were sloughed away by crib sheets and replaced with charcoal rings. Trimmed in that fourth month when my heart started beating again. Beating only for the bright eyes hidden under the tight, grasping curls. That curl is so much of my heart.

Another dip into the velvety warmth. A gold-plated ring slides just past my second knuckle. Not warm or cold. Just there. Worn through in many places, revealing its silver innards. Underside scraped and jagged from daily wear. A loop, like a calligrapher’s swoop, branches out from the circle and swings back around the single stone. It leaves an abyss, softened only by flesh underneath. I tilt my hand. Tiger’s eye winking madly in the sunlight. Always watching. Gold circlet that was the last shackle to bind me to another. The sensation lacking, no warmth or chill. Emptiness between one half and the other. Good and bad and sad. Happiness worn away with the gold.

Brass bells sing from swinging straps, soothing from the presence of the pouch’s final possession. Dangling and chiming to remind that friends do not have to be held close to be important to the soul. Peals like laughter. They say happiness can be found here. You just have to listen.

Finally, I tug free a twisted piece of metal. He found it, living then as a paperclip, amidst leaves and crumbs in the backseat. Artistically twisted into an ornate cage meant for a quartz heart. It used to glow. Neglected, it corroded. Rust stains my fingertips as I handle the cage. Rubs off like sadness. Just a small amount of contact leaves behind flecks of decay. Small glimmers of its previous glory peek through, yet remain overwhelmed by the crumbling orange ugliness snaking about. Twisted and empty now. The heart is long gone. Slowly chipped away and broken over years of careless collisions and thoughtless actions. A cage that did not protect. Merely kept the heart in the perfect place to slowly crumble away.

The pouch is always there. To remind. To create hope. To caution. It is full, but far from filled. Sometimes the pouch feels nearly empty. Other times it feels as if it contains the universe. Usually just a little bag tinkling around in my presence waiting to be heard. Though some days, my medicine bag sings so loudly I cannot hear my own voice. It is just a little medicine bag, swinging with the heaviness of wished upon stars. Bearing the weight of letting go and taking on. The startling weight of loss and regret cushioned by hope and dreams and love. My medicine bag holds my heart. In it is both darkness and light.

(RD) Nightmare

Rough draft: Excerpt from in progress novel (title TBD)

A bitter wind is battering me from all sides. This isn’t right. I remember drinking wine with Sierra in the back yard, laughing into the darkness at her quips. I suppose I could have fallen asleep on the quilt we had lain out. Sure that I’ve just fallen asleep outside, I collect myself and look around. I can see nothing but bare earth and darkness all around me. There are patches of churned up soil and chunks of dark stone scattered within my view. I quickly stand up and brush away the bits of dirt clinging to my clothing. My chest tightens and I become lightheaded when I realize I have no idea where I am. My eyes glide over the horizon as I rotate in a circle. I need to find something, anything, to focus my attention on rather than this bare landscape. There aren’t even any stars in the sky. Just a veil of darkness so thick and murky it almost seems solid, a tangible force pushing in from all around making me claustrophobic. I pick a direction at random and begin wandering.

I keep travelling on, but the surroundings never change. It’s as if I’m walking on a treadmill comprised of earth and stone. My steps grow more lethargic as my energy wanes. The soles of my feet burn; I’m sure they have been cut up and mutilated by hard chunks of dirt and sharp little rocks. The air has been churning about me so fiercely that my eyes are continuously watering.  I feel as if I’m trapped inside a whirling snow globe with icicle currents. I want to find shelter from the biting cold, but my hopes are dwindling. Bewilderment suddenly overwhelms me and I come to a halt. I no longer know what to do. Mindless walking has gained me nothing but injured feet. I am ready to sit down and wait for something to happen. It may not produce any results, but it is easier than going any further. I notice a rock large enough to perch on about twelve paces away.

I try to take a step toward the rock, but my legs won’t move. Something is tangled around them. I kick my feet but my restraints only tighten. I bend to tear at whatever is wrapped around my legs, but I lose my balance and fall. From the ground, my eyes focus on my legs. My lungs instantly feel as if they are filled with cement. Wrapped around my ankles and calves are a dozen hands. Not just hands. Hands covered in grime and crusty wounds. Hands with chunks of disintegrating flesh clinging to bony fingers by shreds of tissue. I strain to kick my legs, but the hands are gripping me too tightly. I grab a set of cold fingers and try to pry them from my calf. Pale fingers dig in, the fingernails gouging into my flesh. I gasp at the pain and shudder as crescents of my blood pools beneath dirt-encrusted fingernails.

            “Let me go!” I scream, pounding my fists on the hands enveloping my calves. I realize the hands are no longer merely restraining me when I feel clumps of frozen dirt scrape my ankles. I dig my palms into the dirt to keep from being pulled down. My shoulders burn with the futile effort and small rocks scrape along my palms as my legs slowly disappear beneath the earth. My throat is on fire from my relentless screaming by the time the dirt reaches my waist. The cold weight of earth presses in around my lower half, dirt shimmying along my thighs. My mind is fuzzy and I no longer know how to react to the situation. I cannot move my lower body at all and my arms have been reduced to useless noodles from pushing down on the earth. The only discernable thought in my head is that I’m going to die. I do not want to die, but I am going to be pulled beneath the earth to my death.

            I allow my body to go limp. I no longer have the strength to struggle. More hands emerge from the black earth. Chilly fingers wrap around my arms with bruising pressure. I feel fingers inching up my torso to my shoulders. The smell of rotting flesh pervades my nose. It is so strong that my mouth fills with the taste of spoiled meat. As I am pulled down, the earth meeting my chest, I can also smell the soil. It does not smell natural. The earth here is filled with decay and sickness. I feel tears streaming down my face when my chin meets dirt. Sobs escape my throat and I gasp for air. One last scream bursts from my lungs as hands grip my skull and dirt crumbles around my face. My eyes squeeze shut against the invasive soil. The scent and flavor of decay overwhelms my senses when shifting earth disrupts my scream. There is no more air. I cannot breathe.

            I open my eyes and try one last time to pull substance into my burning lungs. I cannot see anything, but there is air. I turn my head erratically from side to side. Soft fabric brushes across my face and I quickly claw it back. A ceiling glares white in silver moonlight. I force myself to slow my breathing as my eyes wander around the room. I’m in Sierra’s bedroom. The sheets are wrapped around my legs so I struggle to kick them off. My heart is still pounding even though I’ve realized the dead hands were only a nightmare. The dream clings to me like a starving parasite. Dread and horror broil angrily around my stomach. When the edges of my vision go black and my face flushes, I realize that I’m going to vomit. I leap out of bed as quickly as my trembling limbs will allow and scamper towards the trashcan that is cozied up next to the dresser.

            Even after my stomach is empty, dry heaves send my abdominal muscles into vicious cramps. I sit on the floor, trashcan clutched between my legs, waiting for my stomach to settle back down. When I feel steady enough, I pull myself up using the dresser for leverage. I weave my way to the bathroom through the dark hallway. I run my fingertips down the wall to keep myself moving in a straight line. The light brush of the smooth wall makes my fingertips tingle. The dry, soft hiss my fingers make against the painted drywall is almost overwhelming in the overbearingly silent house. Goosebumps erupt on my arms.

            “Where the hell is Sierra?” I whisper aloud. “Sierra?” I call her name once and pause for a moment before I turn in to the bathroom. My eyes are adjusted to the darkness of the hallway so I can see clearly in the moonlit bathroom. Though it could be the light, I find my reflection startlingly pale. With shaking hands, I turn the spigot and splash cool water on my heated cheeks. Rivulets of sweat imbued water snake down my face and drip from my chin to join the water gurgling down the drain. White knuckled, I grip the counter as my head swims.

            “It wasn’t real,” I whisper, meeting my own eyes in the mirror.

            Deep breath. It wasn’t real.

            Exhale. It was an alcohol-induced nightmare, for sure.

            “Whitney?” Startled by Sierra’s sudden presence, I jump.

            “Holy shit, you scared me! Where the hell did you sneak in from?” I query breathlessly with my hand pressed to my rapidly beating heart.

            “I’m sorry. I was headed back to bed. You look ill. Are you okay?”

            With a sigh I respond, “I’m alright. I just had a really vivid nightmare. Got me a bit spooked and off-kilter.”

            “Are you okay to go back to bed, sugar? I could make you some tea. Or we could go out and get some fast food.”

            “No, no… I’m okay. Let’s just go to bed.” I reach for her hand and she weaves her cool fingers into mine. We pad our way down the hallway with our shoulders touching. Her presence helps melt some of my lingering anxiety.

            In bed, our limbs intertwine. Soft thighs sandwiched and chests pushing and pulling against each other with each breath. Sierra nuzzles into my neck and softly draws her lips under my jawline.

            “I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” she mumbles against my skin. “Maybe I can help you feel a little better?” She follows this suggestion with a girlish snicker. Her hand runs along my back, softly tracing undiscernible patterns. Part of me is filled with erotic heat, excited by her touch and her breath on my neck. The memory of the scent of decay still lingers in my nostrils, though. My legs still tingle with phantom cuts and bruises.

            “Maybe in the morning. I just…I can’t right now.” I place my hand on her cheek. “I wish I could. I’m just still so disoriented. It’s like my brain is still mixing up real with not real.”

            Sierra lightly pecks my cheek with her soft lips, and then rolls over. I wrap my arms around her and pull her into me.

            “Goodnight Whitney,” she whispers. “Sweet dreams, love.”

            “Goodnight.”

            I feel Sierra’s body grow heavy with sleep. She sort of purrs like an exhausted kitten when she’s really out. Normally a sweet and lulling sound, it grates against my jangled nerves. I truly wish to drift into the blackness of exhausted sleep. My mind keeps whirring, though. My chest still feels tight. I’m finding it impossibly difficult to relax.

            When the room begins to turn light gray in early morning sunlight, I shift my arm from under Sierra and slink out of bed. As I tumble down the hallway toward the kitchen, I hope my entire day won’t be marred by this lingering sense of dread. I could use some hot coffee and a steamy shower. Maybe some chocolate chip pancakes would help, too. While measuring coffee into a filter, I try to compile a list of things to distract my mind from the overwhelmingly terrifying dream. The list grows as Mister Coffee splutters. I begin to feel hopeful. Today is just another day. The sunlight will burn away the sticky shadows lingering in the corners of my vision. Coffee mug in hand, I find myself ready to meet the day.