If a girl can bleed without her mother then she can do anything. It come last month but you couldn’t pay me to talk to her about it. I want her to see me, one day, months down the road with a StayFree in my hand or the space between my towel and my titty. When she ask me what I’m doing with that, I’m going to say something rude. I was scared at first, there was more flesh than you can dream, the ads on TV don’t prepare you for what will come out of your body. You think is like blood from a cut, thin like box sorrel, not with small lumps like liver. It happened at school so I got a big box of pads from the guidance counsellor, my friend Mrs. Watson-Thomas. She also said I could come to her for Panadol whenever it come on me like river and laugh that sometimes period look like liver, kidney and even chicken gizzards. I make up my mind that I wasn’t eating gizzards again. We talk some more like we are both two big women, the way she only talk to me. That day she tell me about Mrs. White who teach grade 4, how she left comprehensive school downtown with only 4 subject, how she wear her work clothes too tight, how she didn’t have a teaching certificate, how she dress for people husband. I make a joke that her head look like bullfrog even though it didn’t because my friend Mrs. Watson-Thomas hate her. When she makes big laugh like this I wish she is my mother. But sometimes she sad, even crying, like when she tell me about her husband, who want the house he found her in because government make a new rule that now a man can eat what him never help cook. She tell me not to waste my time with men, to grow up and make a life for myself. That the only good man exist in TV and in Daniele Steel. She said a man will bring your face down to the ground and I believe her, I see how Mummy change.