The Phone Call
Curled in my boyfriend's arms, I reached for my phone as it rang. Reading my coworker's name at the top, I debated answering, but I slid my thumb across the screen anyway, pressing my phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Jess, are you busy tonight?" She asked through a weak voice.
"I mean…" I looked around my boyfriend's room, noting the bottle of midol on his nightstand and migraine hat on my pillow. "Technically, no. Why?"
"Can you please come close tonight? I feel so sick. I can barely even stand."
"Where are you?" I asked, sitting up. "Are you at the store right now?"
"Yes, I've been here since two." I glanced at the time and saw it was five-thirty. "Jess, please. I got my period today, and it's actually killing me."
"Girl, me too," I responded, stifling a laugh. "I'm really sorry, I would, but I feel the exact same."
The other line went silent, then I heard a soft laugh. "I'm sorry, that's actually the funniest reason you could have said no," she paused, "feel better, drink some water."
"You too," I said. "You got this."
Though we both had just gotten our periods –cramping, irritable, and groggy– I ended the call with a weight on my chest that hadn't been there before. Thinking of all the times I had been in her shoes and wished for some relief, I felt powerless having none to give.
The Circuit Day
In elementary school gym class, we measured our progress every term with a circuit day. Circuit days were grueling, measuring how many pushups and situps we could do, how long we could plank, and how fast we could sprint. One particular circuit day fell on the first day of my period. Already cramping and lightheaded, I asked the gym teacher if I could sit this one out.
"Circuit days are crucial. Go get your gear on!" was his response.
Changing in a stall to hide the wings of my pad from my peers, I watched the toilet bowl as it spun. Trusting the judgement of my teacher, I changed into my gym clothes and joined the rest of my class.
The sprinting was somehow okay. The pushups and situps were fine. But once I had reached the planking, my constant cramping was joined by a turning stomach. My lightheadedness met with a numbing tongue.
Running into the changeroom and straight for a toilet, I vomited before I could close the stall door behind me.
The Road Trip
Growing older, my surroundings changed, but the feeling always followed me.
Leaving for the cottage with five of my guy friends, I felt somewhat on edge. Their minivan pulled into my driveway, already packed to the brim, and they told me to climb into the seat in the back. Already anxious for the long drive ahead of us, I kept my bag of tampons and pads close while I crossed my fingers in hopes we would stop along the way– we didn't.
Ten minutes into the ride, I noticed a fishy smell. Discreetly sniffing the air around me while noticing the stench weaken the further I sniffed from my lap, I decided it was coming from me. Embarrassed and ashamed, I kept my headphones on and tried to go to sleep. The two and a half hour ride felt more like four, and by the time we arrived at the cottage, I was ready to pile back into the van and go home.
My friends unpacked the van, carrying my bags inside for me, leaving me standing nearby with nothing to do but watch. When I noticed one of them reach under my seat, my stomach sank at the sight. Is there blood? Did I bleed through the seat? Is that why the smell was so strong?
As I watched him walk from the van to the cottage with a package of fish tucked under his arm that most definitely should have been kept in a cooler, the raw anger that coursed through my veins entirely contradicted the unrelenting relief that slackened my shoulders; I had exhausted myself with a performance that only I had been watching.
The Fist Bump
Putting my phone down next to the midol, just as we had both put down our masks, I felt both seen and stuck. For just a moment on a call, we said so much with such few words. Seeing each other in a way we'd let no one else see, holding each other for a moment; cramping and exhausted and laughing at the absurdity of it all. A refreshing breath of truth before we put our masks back on; a fist bump between fighters before we stepped back in our rings.
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