Take me back

Kindergarten smelled like cut grass and sand. The boy in class that liked me threw sand in my eyes. I was taught to smile and not cry. 

First grade smelled like new paper and old books. The library became my home and the boys still teased me. I was taught how to stay quiet. 

Second grade smelled like wet socks and clean tables. The boy who said he liked me threw a chair at me. I was taught how to laugh without being happy. 

Third grade was new. The smell of my new school was different. It smelled like bus rides and my walkman. I’d turn it up real loud so I wouldn’t have to listen to the older kids. I was taught how to French kiss in a closet. 

Fourth grade smelled like new crushes and makeup. I wasn’t as pretty as the other girls and the boys noticed that. I learned that year how to pass notes inconspicuously. 

Fifth grade was new again. My new school smelled like computers and perfume. It was strong but somehow I still wanted to kiss them. I learned that crushes can make you do silly things. 

Sixth grade smelled like the court room and legal documents. I stayed focused that year and didn’t cry. I was told to not talk to my mother. 

Seventh grade smelled like my grandmothers sweet sweet perfume and my grandfather cologne. I missed my mom and dad but knew that someday they’d be back. I had to learn patience. 

Eighth grade was the year of diplomas and a new boyfriend. It smelled like heartbreak and ice cream. I was told to toughen up. 

Freshman year smelled like death and a hand covering my mouth when I said no. The boy who’d liked me in kindergarten was killed in a truck accident. I was taught that hungry boys don’t listen when you say no. 

Sophomore year smells like my medication and the court room again. This year I was told that nobody will believe the girl. But this year I learned I have more power than I ever imagined. I can put fire in my hands and can blow ice out of my mouth.