Prompt: Stealth by Peggy Trotter Dammond Preacely
I continue to move myself up the list. My default position at highest since the bucolic days of my youth. When I believed myself to be brimming with potential and going as far as my imagination would guide me. Before I knew that white supremacy was a living and breathing worldview and practice. Before I knew that a lot of people frowned upon my natural attraction to men. It was like breathing.
When it was all just stimulus-response, decision-action-outcome-consequence, glass transformed when it collided with hard surfaces, and clothes somehow dirty at the end of the day. Mom seemed a normal Mom—didn’t everyone’s Mom have a pencil box full of weed, rolling papers, and a lighter? My Mom did. And when she opened it, I knew that the night would be a fun time for all.
I remember my green, foam, bathing mitt. It was frog with a broad mouth and smile. His name was Froggie. My hands weren’t big enough to effectively use his mouth to create a rich lather for my nubile form, but it was fun to try. I believed that I would eventually be able to make a lather that the big boys. Being able to use Froggie after I played with my Legos in the tub were the only way that my Mom could get me to wash myself. Froggie and I met in the bathtub each night and even some afternoons, until his rich emerald green faded to a pale sage that I hated. Now I love sage green. It relaxes my body and mind, reminds me of my naked form swaddled in luxurious spas. The soothing silence a stealth ferry to beautiful.