I had a nemesis in elementary school. Two of them--they were twins. Dana and Danielle. They lived up the street from me. We both had gerbils and guinea pigs. They got bored with theirs and released them into the little public creek that separated our sides of the street. My parents helped my brother and I construct little wooden houses for our guinea pigs--we sat their drawing up plans and nailing them together, with special trips to Home Depot. They boasted about their parents' money. I didn't notice. Like me, Dana and Danielle were tomboys--always climbing the trees and obsessed with winning all of the games in gym class. i got injured a lot. they loved that. They had short brown hair and I had long fuzzy blonde hair. They were mean, I was "kill-em-with-kindness." They were loud and i was mute. I was easy to pick on, but forcefully strong when it came to winning an argument through my accomplishments. They made fun of me for being in the smart classes and countless other aspects of school life. I always knew that I was above them so i never really let it bother me. But there was one day in fourth grade that something that they said--after all the bullying and name-calling and elegant tough skin that I maintained--they won. It got to me.
We were waiting in line to leave, and Dana started talking about belly buttons. I was paranoid because my belly button had a little slit in the middle--as if it were a little phillips screw at the inside of it. It was technically an "innie" with a tiny tiny bit of "outie" at the bottom--or at least i remember thinking of it that way when i was little. I don't know what it was about my belly button that made me so insecure; I was a little ballerina ski racer, with a mini-six pack, and I hated bikinis. Dana went around and asked people what kind of belly button they had, asking people to lift up their shirts. It was mortifying. As she approached me i could feel my cheeks ignite in fire and my voice started to knot up. There standing in front of me, with a scowl on her face she just yelled as loud as she could, "outie!" and moved on, without even lifting up my shirt. My elementary school crush--lets say Jessie here--was standing right next to me, and i remember wanting to curl up right there on the ground. I don't know what made me so upset--the fact that she only said that to embarass me, one of many little jealous jibes that had previously amused me. Or maybe it was because she had not even given me a chance to act confident, or to lift up my own shirt, or to resist her orders at all. IT was the whole process--the giving in to her bullying that made me cry for the rest of the day, like the little wimp that I hated to be. Outtie's as they were called, were not even a big deal--but to me, it was this little button that set me off in a spin of self-hatred.
All of that seemed so silly. And I could recount several other traumatic childhood stories that are far more "embarrassing" as a simple belly-button escapade. But it really calls to mind the relationship between childhood emotion, the body, and how memory can magnify over time. How is it that I remember that story, and not the one where i broke my arm, or when I got lost in Disneyworld? How can a simple belly button ignite such raw emotion?
I still don't really show my stomach, but i've been thinking about tummies. Having an upset stomach. The pride of a pregnant woman's protruding belly--the one time that it is socially appropriate to have a big gut. How the skin of the belly is actually quite sexy and erotic without being overtly risqué. A woman, about 19, walked into a coffee shop the other day with a crop-top shirt on. Okay, no one could stop staring at her because her boob was peeking out from the bottom of it--which was incredibly inappropriate beacause it was NOT warm outside, but still--I couldn't stop staring. She rocked it. Bellies are thethe ultimate sign of confidence--when a bunch of dudes spell out a word with sportsgames, or someone without a small waste rips their shirt off in drunken silliness--it's all a sign of wonderful confidence. I'm even told that sleeping on my stomach is so addicting because it gives us a sense of security---to sleep on one's back exposes the vulnerable stomach.
So i suppose this photo is a bit of a coming-of-age for me. Dana--I never really cared about your little attempts to jab me with your insecurities. I always knew that i'd surpass you with my kindness, honesty, grace, and genuine love for giving to people. But I've never liked my stomach. Today, i'm going to like my stomach in honor of you.
I made a self portrait. Music, tummy, vulnerability, and confidence mixed into one.
Yes, i said it. I did it. I'm not going to pretend like i didn't squirm around in my little viewfinder to find the most artistic pose. I admit it. BUt so what. It's my photograph. It's my body. It's my metaphor. Mine, thrown into this silly cyberspace world for someone to read for some kind of connection.
Tiptoe Tiger has begun to roar.
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