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I found myself today in baggy jeans four days old. I'm the third owner of these hand-me downs. My shirt, two sizes too large, was tied with a rubber band behind my back so that it didn't fall around my knees. I'd hacked my hair as short as I dared to keep it functional without threatening being mistaken as a guy. My arms were coated in bug bites, my hands marred with animal scratched and my fingers stained from picking berries. My bare feet stood in mud. I've only been back on the farm for a month and I've already fallen back in old ways. I don't think my roommates would recognize me anymore. I took out my farm girl from the closet today and put away all who I am at school. That academic, cultured lady... she hangs in the closet and would be ruined by this work. Sandi taught me how to be delicate, to wear clothes that take hand washing or dry cleaning, she said it was okay to be in a book all day by an open window. She made me feel it's okay to be feminine and beauty is not a weakness or lavishness only for the rich. Would she know me now? Would she own up to once knowing this burnt face? She would. She's so sweet. But it might take her a moment to realize Me under Farm Girl. At school, I kept Farm Girl hung up. I took her out here and there during work days. She scared the sh*t out of my college mates. I'd go after a weed's root with a viciousness and strength those girls and boys only read about. Like an big oaf I'd pick up the same weight as the men and beat them to our destinations. The women would tsk and set down their purses. I'd use my shirt as a hanky for my sweat and be proud of my feat... until all the guys told me they were scared of me and the delicate women got the dates. So I figured maybe I was gay, but I don't know about that either. I enjoy dressing delicately, and I like being female... but it has to be practical. Always about practicality. Bless Sandi, she was able to break me of this with my clothes, but never with my hair, hands, or general mentality. And I don't really enjoy sports. My mom does much more. I tried playing sports, both contact and non--both were way too physical for me. The men teased me for being a weak little lady. That's how it is at home. I'm the weakest. I can't carry my own weight, only half. But yet, here at school, the women can't carry their own bags let alone a 50-100 lbs feed sack. What am I? Some freak? Way too strong for the ladies, and too weak for the men. Too practical for the ladies, and too delicate for the men. But I am way off topic. Anyways, under the mulberry tree with my mouth full of cold sweet berries and horse flies nibbling at my ears, I found myself dressed in my Farm Girl Best--abet, missing my knee high boots. Those I left in the barn with my partially rusting fencing snips. I found I suddenly longed for the soft black flats and the long rustling dresses of school. My dog--wet from the mildewing pond--brushed up against me and left a smear of duck weed. From jeans that will come out with a single wash. With a white cotton dress... I sighed and wiped my purple fingers on my blue jeans.
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