The Secret Society of the Girls Bathroom

The familiarity of the arms of a stranger in the bar bathroom, the lip gloss passed around, the communal yell of acceptance for a forgettable topic.

The sound of a friend’s voice through the sound of water in the bathroom, the comfortability and knowing they will sit on your toilet to keep you company.

A hair tie mark left on your wrist after sharing it with a fellow classmate, wondering how many have gone missing in your lifetime and how many you have collected yourself.

Watching a friend in your mirror placed on the floor to apply makeup as they try on the top you bought last week and gladly will share.

Walking in a room or party or bar and sharing a scent with a friend, borrowed at the last minute because it smelt so nice in their hair, on their skin.

Talks of bloating before going out, gripping non-existent fat on a 20 some year old body you will wish for.

The voice of a friend wishing you would stop seeing yourself in a way she cannot perceive.

Feeling the warmth on exposed skin, fingers braiding lake washed hair in the summer heat, screams of laughter heard across water.

Knowing how to hold keys at night, to avoid ponytails in the dark.

Sharing a feeling when we hear a story of unwanted fingers griping flesh.

The desire we share to protect one another, that those who know the feeling in this secret, yet open community do.

Being born with the knowledge how to hold a baby,

            how to nurture,

            how to care,

            how to love as a human for a human.

The sisterhood of wiping tears off a friends face when she has drunk too much wine and seen the boy who broke her trust.

The sleepovers when it gets too late, and we share secrets we thought that would never be told, all in hushed whispers, in relieved laughter that it all is not so serious.

Feeling the pull of connection to those women,

             If they be Ophelia or Circe, to whom all girls feel is in a way, part of them body and soul.

To be born with a burning pain built inside us.

So, the community of drunk girls who yell and scream in unison at the topic no one will recall in a moments time, that it feels like safety, feels like love,

              feels like we have known each other in our past lives.

That we as the community of girls in the bright bathroom stalls feel the knowing, the insight to each of the girls whose arms wrap around them, that they too have felt the burden, the love, the strength, the power, the depths of sadness, the trials of this community too, that we are all one, we are all she.