2016 – Day 7

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: includes the words: leader  serious  vest

Step 2: add this word: fear

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In 6th grade, Mattie Donaldson was our leader and she took it very seriously. We were a loose band of geeky, awkward girls who either had no interest in girly stuff like makeup and clothes, or had an intense interest, but lacked the skills or look to make it work. We knew who we were and we somehow found the strength to go with it, despite all the pressures to conform.

We weren't aware that we might have individual strength at the time, we just knew that we had Mattie, and she kept us feeling strong together. On Fridays, Mattie wore her "celebration vest" to school, a bright purple, faux fur vest that made her look like a muppet had shed all over her. Mattie's grandmother had given her the vest when she was four, and Mattie loved it immediately. But it had been much too large for her to wear to school, so her mother told her she had to wait to wear it and stashed it out of sight. Every few months, Mattie would beg her mother to give her the vest so that she could try it on again, but it was never produced.

Mattie began to suspect that her mother would never give back the vest. She feared that she would outgrow it before she had the chance to wear it and so she began furtive searches of her house when her mother wasn't home. It was difficult because Mrs. Donaldson didn't work outside the house, so Mattie had to be quick during grocery shopping trips or doctor's appointments. She couldn't risk looking when she and her sister were left with a babysitter because she suspected that she'd be ratted out. But she took every opportunity until, finally, in the summer before 6th grade, she found it tucked inside a box in the basement labeled "cooking utensils." There were, in fact, several spatulas and old pots and pans in the box, ones that Mattie didn't remember ever seeing in the kitchen. But also, just beneath a cast-iron pan, wrapped in a plastic grocery bag, was the vest. She tried it on that very moment and it fit perfectly.

That night, we were all on the phone debating how Mattie should handle her discovery. She could confront her mother. She could hide the vest in her own room. She could wear it secretly to school. Every possible idea was thrown out. But then Mattie made the decision that only she would make. On the first day of school, she dressed in jean shorts and a plain white t-shirt, and then she put on her purple vest and went downstairs. When her mother saw her, Mattie looked her right in the eyes, keeping her face serious, unapologetic, and silent. Then she walked out to the bus stop without saying a word.

Her mother never mentioned the vest. And every Friday after that first day, Mattie wore it to school. She named it the "celebration vest." She never said if she was celebrating her discovery of the vest, her victory over her mother, or the vest itself, but it didn't matter. We all shared in her joy as we walked down the hall together, the vest's purple hairs blowing back with each step. And no matter what reaction we got from our classmates—sneers, confusion, or outright meanness—we felt strong.