My Little Blue Bikini
Category:Creative Writing,Memoirs,Non Fiction,The Match Still Burns,Writingby Judi Mallard
Not every memory from those early years carries weight and shadow. Some of them are just… pure joy. This is one of those.
I was all of five years old when I got a spanking new blue bikini.
I don’t remember who gave it to me, was it the babysitter, or my mother? I often wondered.
Part of me hopes it was my mother… that maybe even through her own tormented life, she had felt some love for me, but just didn’t know how to show it.
I couldn’t wait to go show my Lee my new blue bikini. She only lived a few houses down from me on the same side of the street. We were best of friends.
I paused briefly at the front door for dramatic effect and then floated outward, as graceful as a butterfly. I could feel the coolness of the concrete step beneath my bare feet. One step down, then two—and pause again.
With one hand perched on my chubby little hip, I did not just walk down that laneway. Oh no, I fluttered and sashayed, swinging my little bum left to right, right to left. A young goddess in the making.
The smile on my face stretched from ear to ear. I was about to show the world my spanking new blue bikini, and the excitement was almost too much to bear.
As I climbed up the rickety old winding staircase to Lee’s house, I screamed out, “Lee, Lee, come see, come see what I got.”
Within seconds, Lee’s grandmother came bursting out through the side screen door, looking quite worried and frazzled.
“What’s all the fuss, what’s going on,” Mrs. Picco said, looking around to see if someone was hurting yet another one of her babies. Mrs. Picco was always so nice to me. I liked her very, very much. She made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I liked to pretend sometimes that she was my mom. I bet she’d be ok with that.
“Look at my new bikini,” I told her, my face and eyes beaming with pride. I honestly do not think I could stretch my mouth any further. I was grinning so much, my cheeks were beginning to ache.
Upon realizing no one was actually trying to hurt or mangle her little girl, Mrs. Picco smiled and burst out into the most boisterous laughter I had ever heard. Then just as quickly, she turned away and hurried back inside. Leaving me standing there quite puzzled.
Within minutes, however, she appeared again in the doorway, this time carrying a gigantic pan of water. Stepping out onto the old wooden platform stoop, she ever so gently laid this beautiful, overflowing, splashing reservoir of pure joy at my feet.
Squealing with delight, I wiggled and jiggled my tiny little derriere into that blissful pan of water, giggling and laughing at its coolness kissing the bottom of my new blue bikini. With each dip and dunk, I squealed even louder.
My young life could not get any better.
