the f-word

i triked down the sidewalk. skinned-up, little legs spinning as fast as the tires on a car.

i wore a pale, yellow sundress that was marked with grass stains.

no bows in my hair. because i was a tomboy.

a smudge of dirt was visible on my face underneath a sassy grin.

my big brother was timing me by counting "one mississippi, two mississippi..." as i tore from one driveway to the next.

all the way down to bobby johnson's house.

i nearly crashed on the dare-devilish turn-around, but i had a record to break. or at least, a chance at my big brother's hard-won admiration.

i was only five. and he was god.

my mama used to say i would trail after him like a little, lost puppy looking for a new home.

if he wore overalls, i wore overalls. if he wanted cherry kool-aid, i wanted cherry kool-aid.

most of all i wanted to be a boy. so he would take me seriously.

nothing much i could do to change that. yet, still i prayed to god each night desperately wishing for him to do so.

each morning i'd wake up, look under the covers and make a disgusted snort.

i knew enough about the birds and the bees to know no miracles had occurred.

on this particular night, my daddy was at the barbecue lighting it up with that magical fluid. i used to be in awe when the flames would come flying up just like a fourth of july display.

once, i stood so close my mama cried out that i was gonna burn my eyebrows offa' that freckled face 'a mine. i just liked the white-hot heat and the way it made me feel.

like i was a part of magic or somethin'.

mama and daddy were expecting friends. the harrington's.

he was the one who used to tickle me so rough i thought i was gonna pee in my pants. he also made the best damn onion rings this side of timbuktoo, or at least that's what my daddy said.

she, well, she was mysterious with her long, brown hair and cigarette in hand. she always looked annoyed. tired and annoyed. my mama told me to keep that little observation to myself.

it was as i was flying back down the path that i heard a horn honk. it was the harrington's wood-paneled station wagon. all shiny and new.

now, just the day before, my big brother sat me down for a serious talk. there were some things that nice girls just didn't do.

and that was cussing.

i looked right back at him eyes wide and nodding my head wisely. all the while, wondering what exactly "cussing" was.

he must have seen my confusion. i never was much good at hiding what was on my mind.

"you know, cussing," he repeated. "the h-word, the s-word, and worst of all worsts, the f-word."

this only furthered my bafflement. i tried to fake it with another head nod, but he saw through again at my attempts of looking worldly.

"hell". "shit". and then he lowered his voice and in a gargled whisper, "fuck." he looked around quickly after the f-word to make sure no one had caught him broadening my vocabulary.

"you 'specially never want to say 'fuck you'. that one's bad, real bad. like, ground you for life and never let you eat ice cream again, bad."

"only big kids say that one."

"got it," i replied seriously. still a little bewildered at why he was tellin' me all this.

my big brother was the smartest guy around. i felt honored he would bestow this knowledge on me.

back to the harrington's.

mrs. h. had those big sunglasses on, the kind my mama called jackie o's. mr. h. had his big hand up in a wave.

"hey there, honey," he shouted. "how are you?"

that's when my little head kinda cross-circuited. i heard my brother saying, "only big kids say that one."

i puffed my chest out, all important, smiled at my brother and gave him a thumb's up. and told that mr. h., "fuck you."

i heard the loud clang of barbeque tools falling to the ground and the next thing happened so fast i couldn't even tell you where he came from.

my daddy swooped me off that trike so swiftly i can still remember the air whooshing right outta' me. he threw me over his shoulder all fireman style. if i hadn't had such butterflies in my stomach, i would've thought it was the best game ever.

the last thing i remember was the harrington's station wagon frozen in the middle of the road. and my big brother's face as red as a fire truck. his eyes bulging out just like our spaghetti-o's.

daddy marched me into the house straight past my mama.

he was gonna wash that filthy language right outta me, i just knew it.

and that's when i discovered that trying to impress your big brother is not worth the taste of liquid soap in your mouth.