This takes me to the place when I was sixteen and at a pool party, though the real happenings were in a bathroom overlooking the spring flowers and the West Coast mountains.

I wanted to be big as that rock. Marred by the rain. Little cleaves that wither me down and the years line up as laughter. A sky reflected around the iris and a bowl where six girls performed a sacred ritual.

Entranced, I followed. Warm from the liquor and wet from the water, I stood at the mirror and watched. One finger, two fingers, three finger, four. One toothbrush; she'd come prepared. One girl didn’t need anything. She knelt and offered herself and what she had came up willingly.

I do this all the time, she’d said afterward with a greasy smile.

It was my turn. I did not want to offend anyone. I got to see the behind-the-scenes performance, and now it was my turn to participate.

This wasn’t how it was for me. I felt sick and not how I felt before it happened. I was uncomfortable.

It’s YOUR TURN. She said it looking at me through the mirror, untangling the knots from her waist-length hair. STEPHANIE TREMBATH.

I knelt. I’d never used a finger. I stuck my index finger down my throat. I waited.

Wiggle it around a bit if nothing happens. That’s what I do. Another girl behind me. She placed her hand on my back. A consolation. Or use two fingers, get your middle finger in there, too, and push back. Hard!

The ground shook. My stomach lurched. What was in there? Chips and crackers. A hamburger in a seed bun coated with cheese and mustard. I hate ketchup. I can't stand the smell of it. Something shifted in my body and I felt it, the tug at my navel like the plug of a bathtub being pulled. A release as the water swirled and was sucked downward. Only this direction was up.

The Up and Out.

The hand on my body was moving in slow circles at my low back.

Is she the last one? Can we go now? Two girls by the window were laughing. One blond, one brunette. They didn't like me. I felt hatred in their stare.

I nodded.

Sweet release.

I let go.

The mountain surrenders to the weather. It lets the sun, rain, wind, snow, and thunder lash down on it. It stands as tall as ever, despite the ongoing of the tempest. Torment is inevitable, especially for teenagers.

When I rose from the bowl, I was alone. I locked the door. I washed my mouth out with a bit of toothpaste and water. My cheeks were streaked with black mascara. My lips were dark red. I was coated in goosebumps. My silver bikini seemed silly. It glittered in the reflection, though its sparkle was dull compared to my eyes.

I smiled at mySelf in the mirror, glittering like the fish that spat up the hook.

I am a stone carved from the mountain.

I roll back and forth to fill the earth.

Photo source.