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Blogger Parts Index -----------------------------------------------
Part
1: https://irenenaridzastorycaptions.blogspot.com/2023/10/mommys-girl-part-1.html
Part
2: https://irenenaridzastorycaptions.blogspot.com/2023/10/mommys-girl-part-2.html
> Part
3: https://irenenaridzastorycaptions.blogspot.com/2025/01/mommys-girl-part-3-end-of-cycle.html
Part
4: Coming Soon…
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Written by: “Irene Naridza”
I came
back from my last day of ballet classes. Today was the day they chose who would
participate in the municipal Christmas recital. Everyone was very excited.
Having a spot in the spotlight on stage was every girl’s dream.
Not
mine, of course. I’m happy to finally be done with that academy of
childishness. Now I’ll finally have more time for my hobbies and free myself
from the strange stares of men on the bus. No, they don’t know I’m a boy in a
girl’s outfit, but they still stare at me like an owl to a mouse.
Mom has
been teaching me how to do makeup to hide my few masculine features. Plus,
honey candies sharpen my voice. I can talk comfortably and sound just like
another girl. The downside is that their effect lasts longer now, so I have the
same voice at school.
When I
returned to school, not much had changed. Before my suspension, they sent me
loads of homework, which I did in the mornings while attending ballet classes
in the afternoons. That’s why going back to the academic routine wasn’t a
radical change.
I was a
bit surprised that Mom didn’t make any move to force me to wear girl’s clothes
at school. I thought that on my first day back, she would be in my room with
some outfit that included a skirt, pink items, and similar garments. That
didn’t happen.
What
did happen was that the idiots who were once my friends now mock me, calling me
names like “Fem voice” or “Sissy Nathan.” Mom was right: friends come and go,
but in the end, only she will stay with me. Although she’s not entirely
innocent either. She’s the one who forced me into this—being Nadia and
investing my time in ballet classes.
My
thoughts are interrupted when I notice the guy sitting across from me on the
bus. It’s been several minutes, and he hasn’t stopped staring at me. Wait a
moment. Is he looking at my legs? WHAT A PERVERT!
I take
a spare leotard from my bag, something I always carry, and use it to cover my
legs. Just as I thought, that creep grimaced and started looking out the
window. Idiot. Fortunately, it’s time for me to get off.
I get
home without any further unpleasant incidents. Since I have no pending homework
to finish or ballet steps to practice, I’d like to look at the stars with my
telescope, but since it’s still daytime, that won’t be possible.
I head
to the kitchen to make myself a small snack. Almost there, I notice the living
room is a bit messy. It’s not much, but there are clothes and all sorts of
items scattered everywhere. Since I have nothing better to do, I pick
everything up and put it on the shelves. I’m not sure if that’s where it
belongs, but it looks better there than on the floor.
I take
the clothes to the back, where the laundry basket and washing machine are. I
also put my ballet uniform there. Thankfully, it’s not as delicate as it looks,
so it’s okay to mix it with other types of clothes. Mom taught me how to use
the washing machine when I was very young. It wasn’t too hard since it’s small
and simple.
But now
I have a question. If I no longer need the ballet uniform, what should I do
with it? Mom will probably sell it to Madame Melody. She sometimes buys used
ballet outfits as long as they’re in good condition and clean. Mine is
pristine.
I’m not
a messy person. I’ve taken care of that ballet outfit like any other garment I
own. I washed it constantly and kept it in a special place in my closet. I even
used lavender-scented detergent. Beyond the natural wear from six months of
classes every Tuesday and Thursday, it’s in great condition.
With a
ham and cheese sandwich in hand, I sit on the living room couch and turn on the
TV. The cartoons on at this hour are very funny, so I don’t notice how quickly
time passes. The sound of the door opening snaps me out of my TV trance.
Mom’s
home. She smiles when she sees me. “Hi, Mom.” I
greet her cheerfully. At first, it was embarrassing when she’d come home while
I was dressed as a girl. But it’s no longer as embarrassing because she’s the
one who makes me look this way. She wouldn’t mock me.
“Hi,
Nadia.” she greets back. My eyes drift to my lap.
I’m sitting with my legs crossed. By now, it’s almost instinctual. But it
wasn’t always. I remember the first time I sat this way.
+++++
“I’m glad you’ve learned how to sit properly.” Mom had said with a smile. Back then, I didn’t understand what she meant until I saw how I was sitting. Embarrassed, I tried to sit like a boy would, but I didn’t do it. Something inside me stopped me. Those first days were a bit complicated.
Little arguments and me resisting things I couldn’t escape. “You cleaned the living room. I’m glad you’re being more cooperative.” Mom had praised during those days. Back then, I got snappy over her feminine rules. But I slowly resigned myself.
“Come
on. Let’s make dinner.” Mom
said, snapping me back to the present. I stood up and followed her to the
kitchen. Early on, she’d ask me to help. Now, it’s not a request because girl
or not, helping around the house is my duty. Assuming the role of Nadia is part
of it too.
She
handed me an apron to keep my clothes clean. It wasn’t a dress or anything like
that. I wore jeans and a sweatshirt with a drawing of a mother holding hands
with her daughter. Mom no longer gets mad if I don’t always wear skirts because
women don’t always wear skirts and dresses.
“We’re
making beef stew.” she instructed. I handled the rice,
rinsing two cups in a sieve before putting them in the pot to cook. Then Mom
asked for help chopping the vegetables while she prepared the meat.
She
smiled at me and asked a tough question. “How
was your last day of ballet?” I
avoided her gaze and focused on chopping the carrot. “Good. We did the audition for the recital. Then we said our goodbyes.
Many cried. Madame Melody cried. It was like a pre-event for the recital itself.” I replied as I finished and moved on to the onion.
“Did
you get selected?” she asked while stirring the pot. “Of course not. I was pretty average. Not because I
didn’t try hard, but because there were several girls in my class who took it
very seriously. They moved almost unrealistically well.” I responded
as I finished with the vegetables.
“Oh,
honey. I’m sorry.” she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I
focused on adding the vegetables to the stew. “It’s
okay. I don’t feel bad. It’s a relief to be done with six months of practicing
dance moves in tights and leotards, only to be passed over for someone clearly
less capable than me.” I said honestly.
Mom
looked at me with concern. “Nadia, are you okay?
Why are you crying?” she asked as
I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. Honestly, I didn’t know. Just like I
didn’t know why they chose her. Six months of my life, hours of practice, and
setting aside my hobbies, only for it to amount to nothing.
Mom
hugged me as my vision blurred with tears. The warmth of her embrace made me
feel safe, so much so that I no longer cared about sobbing. It was an injustice
I couldn’t do anything about. Crying wouldn’t fix it, but I couldn’t take it
anymore. What a fraud!
To Be Continued…
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