Bess

She rode into town on 25-year old mare, given to her on the occasion of her sixteenth birthday. Bess never was a rough and tumble kind of gal. She rode Sal everywhere the day the horse came into her possession, and Bess never seemed to mind that Sal went one speed--slow, with a slight limp. It turned out that if a horse lived long enough, there might be some hip dysplasia, or one leg might just be a little shorter than the other three. Bess eschewed the car, the bus, and she would have turned up her nose at the subway if she had lived in a large city. She took life one moment at a time and enjoyed as many incarnations, re-imaginings, and reinventions of herself as she could.

At sixteen, she (like Sal) could take things slow. She was obviously in no hurry to become who she would be for the rest of her life. For the moment, she was determined to occupy Little Bo Peep—corset, petticoats, bloomers, and shepherd's hook all in tow. She, of course, lacked the sheep, which was Sal's good fortune. Bess had opted to dress her kitten George in a mouton sweater. George fit nicely into her lunch basket as well. George was very warm in the sweater, and he mewled his unhappiness throughout the day in the vain hope Bess would abandon Little Bo Peep—or, at the very least, abandon his conscription as a substitute lamb.

Most problematic for Bess was the fact that she had nowhere to leave her horse when she went to school. She tied Sal up near the bike racks the first and only day she'd ridden the mare to Jefferson High, and within thirty minutes' of the beginning of the school day, the principal called her to the office.

Ms. Rose, a sturdy woman in her fifties with a no-nonsense Karen-haircut typical of her age and station, never had an opportunity to ask to see the manager because she, in effect, was the manager. However, in order to deal with the horse situation, she was forced to muster all the righteous indignation she could, then found she had to hold back her laughter when confronted with the buxom young shepherdess who had entered her office.

"Bess, I am so sorry to tell you this," she said, (attempting with every bit of gravitas at her disposal and failing), disguising her laughter in a strained coughing fit. "You cannot tie up a horse here at school. You need to take him or her home. We can't shelter an animal like that from the elements, and it would be terrible if something were to happen to, uh, him, uh, or uh, her."

"Ms. Rose, I have a test today," Bess implored. "Surely, I can remain to take my test. After the test, I can take Sal home."

Ms. Rose cleared her throat.

"Are you all right, Ms. Rose?" Bess asked. "Would you like me to fetch some water?"

'Oh, Jesus,' thought Ms. Rose. 'The poor girl has mixed herself up with Jack and Jill.' The musing resulted in Ms. Rose bending and grabbing her sides to stifle the guffaws and eye watering Bess had inspired.

"Bess," she gasped, "I know you mean well or something, but you're going to have to go now. And maybe, when you return tomorrow, you could leave your costume at home."

Bess recoiled. "Costume?" she asked, completely taken aback. "Costume? I have this very same outfit in four other colors. I don't have funds to spend on flights of fancy." Mortified, embarrassed, and slightly offended, Bess hung her head.

"Go on now," said Ms. Rose, almost in a sincere tone, as she led Bess to the office door. Bess exited, and with the door closed once again, Ms. Rose finally let out the laughter and tears she had been holding back throughout her exchange with Bess.

An hour later, Bess arrived home. Her mother was hanging laundry on the clothesline when she spied Bess and Sal loping up the drive. "Oh, dear. What brings you home this early?" Bess's mother asked.

Bonita, Bess's mother, was a small woman with weathered hands, sun-darkened skin, and the furrows around her eyes and mouth marked her as living a happy life. She dressed every day in her uniform of denim shirt, Wrangler jeans, and whatever no-name brand of work boots she could find. Most of the time, her long, faded hair was held back in a braid that snaked down her back, and she wore a dusty, suede wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun out of her eyes.

"I was sent home because of Sal," Bess answered and swung a leg over the side of the mare before lowering herself to the ground. She picked up her shepherd's hook, and gently disengaged her lunch basket from the carabiner attached to one of the saddle bags. George had shrugged out of the sweater during the trip back from school and promptly threw a paw of protest toward Bess.

"Ms. Rose said I couldn't bring a horse to school. I mean, I guess she's right. There's no barn or anywhere for Sal to rest for seven hours. I could walk her at lunch time, but it's probably not the best situation," Bess acquiesced. She saw the logic. She really did, but it didn't make her feel any better.

"I'm sorry, honey." Bonita came to Bess's side and drew her into a hug. "You look very pretty today," she told her daughter.

"Hunh. That's the other thing. Ms. Rose told me I should leave my 'costume' at home when I return to school." Bess's eyes began to shine. "I don't understand why she said that to me. She leaves the goth, emo, and the skater kids alone. She leaves the drama kids alone. I'm not doing anything different than any of those other kids. I'm simply expressing myself." Bess leaned into her mother's embrace, and when the tears came and her body heaved from the emotion, her mother held her tighter.

"Would you like me to say something? Or your father? Does your brother know you were sent home?" Bonita asked rapid-fire.

"I texted Bradley before I left school. He knows." Bess drew away from her mother to wipe at her eyes. "I don't think I want you or Dad to get involved. I'll just work on being resilient and move through this. If it doesn't kill me, it'll make me stronger, right?" Bess tried to appear brighter, but the storms behind her eyes would take a while to clear.

At dinner that evening, Bess's father Bob asked everyone how their days had gone. Bess shared her tale of woe, leaving out the bit about her costume. Bess's older brother, Bradley, was captain of the football team. He inherited his height, thick dark hair, and broad shoulders from Bob. Bradley's popularity provided a layer of insulation to Bess by shielding her from the jibes and jabs the other students would be only too happy to lob in her direction. Bradley worried how Bess would fare the following year when he'd be in college. Bradley wasn't embarrassed by his sister's eccentricity, and he admired her for being whoever she was at any given time.

Bess had occupied Trinity from The Matrix when she was a freshman. In the black pleather, Bess had been the object of every high school boy's fantasy. Her foray into science fiction had been short-lived, though, when she saw a lewd drawing that seemed to be of her left on one of the lunch tables. The likeness was good, she was afraid to admit, but she didn't think she had the tiny waist and oversized breasts and bottom depicted. She noticed some of the lingering looks her male teachers threw her way, and it made her feel uncomfortable. All she wanted was a chance to save the universe, and being sexualized was going to rob her of the opportunity.

She moved on to Bridget Jones and faded into the background. Bradley gave a sigh of relief, and he didn't mind the English accent his sister adopted, though the teachers and all of Bradley's friends thought it odd. Bess didn't have many friends. She was mostly caught up in her head living in various personas. Today's events, however, would not deter her from Little Bo Peep.

The following day, Bess rode to school with Bradley. She decided accepting the ride was much easier and faster than taking Sal to school—and there was the issue of the school not having a stable for the old horse. Over breakfast, Bradley convinced Bess to leave George, who was curled up in Bradley's lap, at home. Bradley wondered if there was something going on in his sister's brain or some trauma that caused her to want to be almost anyone but herself. When the two of them were little, Bess had been his shadow, his best friend and playmate. They played make-believe but always ended up as themselves in the end. The shift into her personality search began shortly after Bess's thirteenth birthday. If someone had broken Bess's brain, Bradley wanted to find the person and squash him or her like a bug; and if something else was going on, he wondered how long their parents would wait before taking his sister to see a mental health professional. As long as he could, though, he would protect his sister.

Bess didn't last a full day at school. Some enterprising art student had drawn a busty shepherdess who was a cross between a fairy tale and the St. Pauli Girl. The drawing was left on Bess's locker. The quality of the artwork was very good, spot on. Even with the enlarged eyes and pillowy bee-stung lips, her face was unmistakable. Bess tore the paper from her locker and marched to her brother's locker between classes. Her upset followed her like a plane's contrails through the school.

"Bradley, who would do this?" she asked between hitching sobs. "What have I done to anyone that was so awful to merit something like this?" Bess didn't notice the other students meandering in the locker bays; she didn't notice the cell phones pointed in her direction. "Why does anyone even care about me?" She thrust the crumpled up drawing at her brother. He took the paper and looked carefully at his sister's face. Mascara ran down the apples of her cheeks, and distress, sadness, and anger found homes in her eyes, the set of her jaw, and the color of her entire face. Bradley examined the paper. To be fair, it was a very good sketch. Bess turned to look at the students who seemed to be crowding around her and Bradley. She saw the phones pointed at her.

"Is this funny to you?" she said in a menacing whisper. She twirled, and her skirts raised, showcasing her petticoats and crinoline. She raised her shepherd's hook above her head, not unlike Poseidon hoisting his trident. "I'm happy," she said, raising her voice, which was laced with hysteria, "that you know who you are because I don't know who I am yet. You think I'm a joke…but I'm not. I'm just trying to find my way." She looked at each student, and many refused to look her in the eye. She leveled her shepherd's hook, pointing it toward the students surrounding her. "Do you know who you are? Do you like who you are? When you look in the mirror, are you happy with what you see there?" She tried to make eye contact with these kids she'd known since kindergarten, but they were more focused on their phone screens and the unfolding drama and meltdown happening before them. She leaned against the lockers in defeat, sinking to the floor.

"Bradley, please take me home," she muttered. "I think I'm done here today."

In the evening, Bess's phone rang. It was a reporter from a local television station. "I saw your video on TikTok," the reporter said.

"What?" Bess asked in a soft voice. "What are you talking about?"

"You've gone viral," the reporter answered matter-of-factly.

Bess put the reporter on speaker while she opened the app. She was trending. Hashtags ranged from #delulu to #likewhoyouare to #lookinthemirror to #bopeepindahouz to #buyapersonality. She pulled up her other social media accounts, and she saw there were thousands of views and comments.

"I didn't know about this," Bess said.

"Would you agree to an interview? It would be short, and it wouldn't be negative. I think you have a message," the reporter said.

Bess agreed. The reporter arrived shortly after ending the call. He spoke with Bob, Bonita, and Bradley. Bess introduced the reporter to Sal. She discussed the arduous task of trying to find out who she was as a person, her role in this life, and her quest for meaning.

The reporter found Bess to be sympathetic, endearing, conscientious, and more than a little strange. The piece was poignant, though. It aired throughout the broadcasts the next day. The reporter won an Emmy and a Peabody award for his work. The insight, sensitivity, and raw quality of capturing Bess on perhaps one of the worst days of her life cast a spell on the viewing public. Bess received invitations to appear on talk shows. She gave a Ted Talk, and found herself being invited to various colleges, universities, psychiatric conferences, and women's organizations to speak on her experience. She finished high school with a tutor and online instruction, and in the end, she settled into being just a girl with a horse, a kitten, a mother, father, and brother. She settled into being a girl who cared, who carried a world of experiences, and an infinite number of possibilities of personhood.