The Summer I Took My Glasses Off

I was a feminist before I took my glasses off.

That was last year, when I partook in a #independenceforwomen march to seek separation from the men's side of the gym. Let me tell you, it was exactly like Quebec on election day, butting heads against the rest of Canada. I was all lensed up, reflective and glassy, standing up on the podium like a sexless academic with my super baggy shirt and even baggier jeans, mic in hand, yelling in a deep timbre so that my voice would resonate.

"Yo!" Yelled the cool guy, Cameron, abruptly cutting me off. A loose smoke dangled lazily between his fingers. I knew he was cool by the way that he tilted his cap off-centred, over his eyebrows. He peered up from beneath his visor with blue piercing eyes. I wavered, then, which was a mistake because he took that moment to say, "What are you even talking about? Discrimination? Everyone can use the gym. Especially girls."

"Yeah," jeered his posse.

But I wasn't nearly done. I glared deep into his leering eyes and said, "Coming from the guy who sexualizes the hair in the girl's shower drain."

"And, I still wouldn't ever sexualize you," he retorts. The crowd oohs.

It would've been the perfect time for a good clapback except that I couldn't think of one. Of course, the crowd immediately riled up, and soon my elementary school nickname resurfaced like a wave: Beast! Beast! Beast! Not because I was strong by any means, but because I was hairy (Jenny caught sight of my unshaved armpits two years ago, and it's never left me since).

So I walked off stage, with the grace of an elephant on a balancing ball, and into the bathroom where I hid for the rest of the day.

The following year did not ease up on me. I trudged through school with the paranoia of a criminal on the run. Lunch was its usual, sadly in the corner by the lockers, tucked away from prying eyes, but walks down the hallways had shifted. Turns out fighting for something (and failing miserably at it), equalled putting a target on your back; and, as the ugliest girl in this school, it made sense when the arrows landed.

Jeremiah found me later by the lockers.

"Belly, what are you doing?"

I couldn't say what I was doing. I was recuperating; hiding from prying eyes— although what eyes, I couldn't name. Still, the feeling intensified so that I could feel the seams of my skin holding me together.

"What Cameron said to you was out of line," Jeremiah eyes darkened, "You didn't deserve that."

The sentiment fell flat. I frowned, crossing my arms, "Why didn't you say anything, then?"

A troubled expression fell over his face. He shrugged, not quite able to catch my eye.

"I don't know... I..."

"I, what? Just couldn't?"

Jeremiah sighed loudly. He shook his head.

"It's... I wish people could see you," he stammered, blushing deeply. He caught my gaze with his own. They blazed with conviction, "I wish people could see what I see."

Silence snapped into place between us. Bitterness spiralled like motes of dust atop our heads. A strange sensation buzzed through my body. I couldn't tell whether I was trembling or not.

I never noticed just how pretty Jeremiah's curls were. They tickled my cheek.

A confession hovered between the spaces of our lips. Just before anything could be spoken, his fingers reached over and grabbed the temples of my glasses and slowly pulled them off. I blinked, squinting.

"I wish you'd let them see you."

"Look. At. That," sauntered Cameron, whistling under his breath. He was dumbstruck, eyes dazzling with admiration.

I couldn't see, so I put my glasses back on. Just in time to see his smile fade into one of disgust.

"Ew, Beast," he shuddered.

I took my glasses off again.

In the blur of colour, I could see him eyeing me up. It felt powerful being so blatantly objectified. I let him trace my body, up and down, with his eyes. He grinned devilishly.

"You new?"

With my newfound power, I was unstoppable.

English teacher wanted to pick on me? Well, glasses off and he was a goner.

"Oh, oh, no worries, sweetheart," he stammered, all pathetic and gooey-eyed, "I know you've done the readings. Let's ask Janet here instead. Janet?"

So, moustache-faced Janet had to stand up all squarmy and red-faced.

I couldn't read anything on the page, or see the lesson on the Powerpoint, but who cared?

Later, bare-eyed and ready, I glanced over at my childhood crush. The god that was Conrad. Unbelievably tall, gorgeous Conrad with those baby blue eyes. The man who set my heart stuttering ever since I was a kid when we'd all play in their backyard with his younger brother, Jeremiah. God, super rich, hot Conrad and his cute brother.

Catching my gaze, Conrad stood up and walked over to my desk.

It'd been years since we'd last hung out. That was before he had a girlfriend, Aubrey, and my twelve-year-old heart split into two. And then, Jeremy found the first love of his life, which transpired into a series of half-hearted flings with anything remotely moving, so he also got too busy to hang out. Coincidentally, that was around the time I was nicknamed Beast.

He was the same as ever. Tall, dark, and brooding. He smiled that same soft-hearted smile that would get any young girl's heart melting and asked, "Wanna share? I left my copy at home."

A pitying excuse seeing that class was nearly half-over, and we'd gone over most of the reading, but I took it.

He slid into the chair next to mine. My heart scattered over the tabletop, not that he noticed. He leaned in close, eyebrows scrunching: "Why aren't you wearing your glasses?"

I didn't know how to reply, so I shrugged.

"You look beautiful today," he murmured. He caught a page as it slipped from my finger, and then his hand was over mine. My breath hitched. His thumb drew a faint circle over the back of my hand and then gently slumbered down the slopes of my wrist, "Something is so different about you."

The magic might be too potent; without glasses I was a goddess.

He didn't draw away like I expected. His fingers pressed down against my wrist possessively, with a boldness I'd never seen in him before.

"Where's my Belly?" He asked under his breath— an ick under most circumstances, but he was hot, so it didn't count.

"She's ugly," I muttered, leaning into the damsel in distress. He ate it up. He smiled like he knew just how to fix me.

"You know what'd make you even hotter," he whispered. He pulled out a pair of glasses and gently put them over my eyes. There were no lenses in them. He smiled, “There she is. My Belly.”