Watch Us Rise(64)

“Hey, I will have you both know that I am almost always right—you just have to listen.”

“Mom,” I start, “I know you’re right. I do. And I really appreciate your advice. But can I ask you a question?”

Mom nods.

“How come you don’t stand up to your own mom like this? How come you don’t shut her down or even raise your voice . . . ? ever?”

“Oh, Chelsea. You and Mia are from a different generation than I am. When I was growing up, there was still a way that women were supposed to dress and act and be in the world. And I grew up very religious—church every week, confession, no sex before marriage, all of that. I didn’t have the same options as you two, so I didn’t even know how to use my voice.”

“But there were tons of women who called themselves feminists when you were growing up, who raged against all types of systems. Didn’t you want to join in?” I ask.

“Well, sure I did, but I was also a good girl. I did what I was told. Some of us took a little longer to get there,” she says, reaching her hand out to hold mine, “but I’m glad I have you two pushing me along. And you definitely push me, Chelsea. You push everyone.” We laugh, because I know she’s right, and it’s something I both love and hate about myself.

We end the night talking about the first time Mom and Dad met—in college when they were both taking a women’s literature course. Mom always said he took it to meet women, and I think she might be right—and it worked. She tells us about how he sent her flowers every day for two weeks to get her to go on a date with him, and how when he proposed he did it in front of their favorite bookstore, called Better Day Books, and that he made a bouquet of flowers with pages from her favorite books, so she could always keep a collection of words close to her. I love these stories, but tonight it feels more important—feels like I need to hold them closer, and make sure I follow some of these directions for myself.

I’m so giddy when I get home that I text Jasmine right away: A woman is not a receptacle. My mother said that tonight.

She said a woman is not a safety deposit box, not a safe you keep your stuff in. She is not a grocery cart. When you put the key back in, a quarter doesn’t pop out. My mother spoke up tonight, and I knew, and the waiter knew, and the guy in back of us who we said was getting a real earful knew.

A week later, there’s an envelope on the kitchen counter with my name on it. Mia and I smile when we see it, since we know that Mom’s favorite thing to do is write letters to us—she likes to document her advice in writing, make sure we hear her sometimes quiet voice loud and clear.

My dear sweet Chelsea,

I want to start by saying that you are beautiful and strong and bright and cool and brilliant and funny. We all love you so much. I love who you are in the world—love how you care about it and want there to be justice and equal rights and love all over. My daughter, I know that you will thrive and curate a gorgeous life for yourself. And you will be successful in high school and beyond—and toward whatever it is you choose to pursue. What I’m saying is: you will make this life work for you. You always have, and you always will.

Now, what I want you to understand is that you CANNOT let some boy rule the narrative. Men should not get to tell your story or shift where your life is going. You cannot let idiots change your perception of yourself. You need to stay rooted and strong in who you are (refer to the paragraph above to know how the rest of the world sees you). Now you really have to see that in yourself. Your junior year is important, yes, but it’s only a few more months in the span of a lifetime, which is a relatively small amount. You have to use these months to figure out who you are and what you want. And you want a boyfriend or partner who is going to love and adore you—someone who respects and honors you. That’s what it’s about. You are too powerful, and you need to show up to school knowing who you are—and not letting anyone change your mind.

You will be okay. Everyone around you loves you. Talk to us, get advice, rest, eat, do some self-care. You have to start figuring out what makes YOU happy, and what makes YOU satisfied. What kind of life do YOU want? You are so young still, and you have so much life ahead of you. Don’t let some jerk ruin your high school experience. You need to remove yourself from that negativity and shift the focus back to yourself.

I want you to know that I have been in your situation—I made some bad decisions during high school—but I knew there were people around me who loved me and who wanted me to succeed. We are here, and we’re not going anywhere. You can ask me or Mia anything, and we will answer honestly.

I love you. I am here—always.

Love,

Mom





The tardy bell rings, and I am still trying to get my locker open. This is the second time it’s jammed up this week. I kick it, jiggle the handle.

And then I hear Meg’s voice.

It is not her usual, annoying voice. This time she is yelling. “What did you just say to me?”

“I was just thanking you for wearing my favorite jeans.”

I know that voice too. Jacob Rizer.

“You’re so disgusting,” Meg says.

Meg’s eyes catch mine.

I stand there, let her know I am watching.

Jacob continues making comments about her clothes, her body.

“Leave her alone,” I say.