Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

of my body began to turn and to curve more dramatically. I was always small-framed with a lean torso, although nowhere near as gangly as Emily who shot up so quickly it looked like she had been stretched overnight.
    Emily's height brought her a look of maturity, but it was maturity that showed itself only in her face. The rest of her feminine development had either been forgotten or ignored. None of her lines were soft and delicate like mine were, and by age twelve, I was pretty sure I had twice the bosom. I didn't know because I had never seen Emily undressed, not even in her slip.
    One night while I was taking a bath, Mamma came by and noticed my womanly development had begun.
    "Oh dear!" she exclaimed with a smile, "you're bosom is blossoming much earlier than mine did. We're going to have to buy you some new undergarments, Lillian."
    I felt myself blush all over, especially when Mamma rattled on and on about how my figure would literally devastate the young men who gazed upon me. They would all look at me with that intensity "that makes you think they want to memorize every detail of your face and figure." Mamma loved to apply the words and lessons in her romance novels to our everyday lives, each and every time an opportunity presented itself.
    Less than a year later, I had my first period. No one told me what to expect. Emily and I were returning from school one late spring day. It was already as warm as summer, so Emily and I wore nothing more than our dresses. Fortunately, we had just parted company with the Thompson twins and Niles, otherwise I would have been embarrassed to death. Without any warning, I was suddenly gripped with a terrible cramp. The pain was so severe, I clutched my stomach and bent over.
    Emily, annoyed that she had to pause, spun around and grimaced with disgust as I squatted on a patch of grass and moaned. She took a few steps toward me and put her hands on her knobby hips, her elbows bent so sharply against her thin skin, I thought the bones would tear through.
    "What's wrong with you?" she demanded.
    "I don't know, Emily. It hurts so much." Another spasm came sharply and I moaned again.
    "Stop that!" Emily cried. "You're acting like a butchered pig."
    "I can't help it," I moaned, the tears streaming down my face. Emily grimaced unsympathetically.
    "Get up and walk," she commanded. I tried to straighten myself up, but I couldn't.
    "I can't."
    "I'll just leave you here," she threatened. She thought a moment. "It's probably something you ate. Did you take a bite of Niles Thompson's green apple as usual?" she asked. I always sensed Emily was watching Niles and me during lunch recess.
    "No, not today," I said.
    "I'm sure you're lying as usual. Well," she said, starting to turn, "I can't . . ."
    I felt between my legs because there was a strange, warm wetness there and brought my fingers up to see the blood. This time, my howl could surely have been heard by the workers on The Meadows, even though we still had the best part of a mile to go.
    "Something terrible is happening to me!" I cried, and turned my palm so Emily could see the blood. She stared a moment, her eyes growing wider and wider, her long, thin mouth twisting like a rubber band into her cheek.
    "You're having your time!" she screamed, realizing where my hand had been and why I had such pain. She pointed her finger at me accusingly. "You're having your time."
    I shook my head. I had no idea what she meant, nor why that made her so angry.
    "It's too soon." She backed away from me as if I had come down with scarlet fever or the measles. "It's too soon," she repeated. "You're a daughter of Satan, for sure."
    "No, I'm not. Emily, please, stop . . ."
    She shook her head with disgust and turned away from me, mumbling one of her prayers as she started to walk on, taking longer and faster strides and leaving me terrified. I began to cry. When I checked again, the blood was still coming. I could see it streaming down the inside of my leg. I howled with fear. The pain in my stomach hadn't eased any, but the sight of the blood took my mind off it long enough for me to stand. Sobbing hysterically, my body caught up in a tremor of shudders, one after the other, I took a step forward and then another and another. I never looked down at my leg, although I felt the blood slip into my stocking. Instead, I walked on, clutching my stomach. It wasn't until I was nearly at the house that I remembered I had left all my books and notebooks on the