Buttons and Bows

No Turning Back

“What I want young women and girls to know is: You are powerful and your voice matters. You’re going to walk into many rooms in your life and career where you may be the only one who looks like you or who has had the experiences you’ve had. But you remember that when you are in those rooms, you are not alone. We are all in that room with you applauding you. Cheering your voice. And just so proud of you. So you use that voice and be strong.”
- Kamala Harris

By unspoken agreement, the entire cadre made a hard right turn the moment we exited Buttons and Bows and headed for Sally’s Crumpets, Cakes, and Scones three doors down. There we made the acquaintance of Suzanne (Sally’s daughter) who cheerfully filled our orders for coffee and scones, bear claws, chocolate eclairs, and one almond croissant stuffed with marzipan. We carried our orders outside where we commandeered six wooden tables and arranged them in a circle. “Okay,” I said once everyone had taken a bite of their pastry and had a sip of coffee. “What do we think?”

“I want more,” said Melissa.

“Same,” said Fatima.

“Me two,” said Eileen.

“Me three,” said Annie.

Rosalyn, whose mouth was full of custard cream merely raised her hand and nodded.

“Okay, it’s unanimous. Why don’t we go back ask the Proprietress if she’ll let a group of us come back for more shopping and another story?”

The Proprietress didn’t seem at all surprised to see us when we reappeared in her shop. “Did you forget something or need a different size?” she asked.

“Oh no,” I said. “We’re here with a proposal. Please say yes.”

Two weeks later, the first meeting of the Smart and Sassy Tee Shirt Club convened in the storeroom of Button and Bows Boutique to hear the Proprietress tell us the story behind her We Won’t Go Back t-shirt. It’s a good one!

We Won’t Go Back

“Once upon a time a child was born who loved the Earth with an intensity that was almost an obsession. Every morning, she was up and out the door at sunrise and would reappear only when hunger, injury, or death drove her inside. There her mother would feed her peanut butter and honey sandwiches, bandage scraped knees and bug bites, and try to ease the grief the little girl felt whenever she found something that had died. “Where does their life go?” the little girl asked.

“No one really knows,” her mother said. “But I believe their spirits go back to Mother Earth.” For some reason the little girl found this comforting. She nodded her head and never asked the question again.

The only thing that interested the little girl more than exploring beneath bushes, climbing trees, and spending time at the beach was pretending to be a wolf. Why wolves interested her so much was a mystery, but they were one of the first animals she learned to draw, and she could often be heard practicing wolf howls with the family beagle.

When the little girl turned five she was sent to kindergarten where she was told that little girls don’t howl, play in the dirt, or hit boys who throw rocks at birds. By the time she was in sixth grade she had learned that it wasn’t ladylike to swear, wear boxers beneath her skirts, or remove those skirts to run races with the boys. By eighth grade she’d learned that muscles made her look fat, boys wouldn’t “like” her if she beat them at sports, and that she looked ugly without make-up.

By the time the little girl grew into a woman and dropped out of college to get married, bulimia was a way of life. Her self-worth revolved around her weight and what others thought and said about her. When her husband gave her gonorrhea - claiming he had no choice but to sleep around because she’d become so unattractive - she accepted his judgment without question and began planning to kill herself.

The plan was simple - swim as far out into the ocean as she could and wait for death. The morning she chose was perfect with a cloudless sky and glassy water. She pulled her goggles over her eyes, dove in, and began swimming. She was an excellent swimmer and it took her almost an hour to exhaust herself. When she knew she’d reached the point of no return, she rolled onto her back, closed her eyes, and waited.

Not long after this, a pod of Spinner dolphins appeared. They announced their arrival with clicking, clacking, whistling, and the occasional exuberant vertical leap into the air. For a few minutes she ignored them, figuring they were just curious. But when they began brushing her sides as they swam past and their echolocations could be felt tingling through her body, she rolled back onto her stomach, put her face underwater and had a look. There she saw that several dozen dolphins were swimming in a leisurely circle around her, using whistles and echolocation to recall her to herself. Their message was clear, “Now is not the time.” How she knew this she couldn’t say. Nor would she be able to describe the emotions that poured into and through her as she began swimming back to shore. “Now is not the time,” they told her again and again until she reached shallow water and could stand on her own.

That night, after taking a hot shower and a long nap, she packed her bags and took one last walk along the shore. “Thank you for helping me remember,” she said to the dolphins. “I won’t go back.”

Copyright 2024 by Jena Ball. All Rights Reserved.

If you or someone you know has a story they’d like to share about your own journey to empowerment, I’d love to hear from you. I’ll be featuring one or more stories (like the one told above) each time I share a design with a goal of helping us build community by getting to know one another better. Questions? You know where to find me :-)