Free Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume Page B

said.
    "Well, I yelled back that it was important."
    "So-so-" Nancy prompted.
    "So… uh… she came and I showed her," Gretchen said.
    "Then what?" Janie asked.
    "Well, she didn't have any stuff in the house. She uses Tampax herself-so she had to call the drugstore and order some pads."
    "What'd you do in the meantime?" Janie asked.
    "Kept a wash cloth in my pants," Gretchen said.
    "Oh-you didn't!" Nancy said, laughing.
    "Well, I had to," Gretchen said.
    "Okay-so then what?" I asked.
    "Well… in about an hour the stuff came from the drugstore."
    "Then what?" Nancy asked.
    "My mother showed me how to attach the pad to the belt. Oh… you know… "
    Nancy was mad. "Look Gretchen, did we or did we not make a deal to tell each other absolutely everything about getting it?"
    "I'm telling you, aren't I?" Gretchen asked.
    "Not enough," Nancy said. "What's it
feel
like?"
    "Mostly I don't feel anything. Sometimes it feels like it's dripping. It doesn't hurt coming out-but I had some cramps last night."
    "Bad ones?" Janie asked.
    "Not bad. Just different," Gretchen said. "Lower down, and across my back."
    "Does it make you feel older?" I asked.
    "Naturally," Gretchen answered. "My mother said now I'll really have to watch what I eat because I've gained too much weight this year. And she said to wash my face well from now on-with soap."
    "And that's it?" Nancy said. "The whole story?"
    "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, Nancy. But really, that's all there is to tell. Oh, one thing I forgot. My mother said I may not get it every month yet. Sometimes it takes a while to get regular."
    "Are you using that Private Lady stuff?" I asked.
    "No, the drugstore sent
Teenage Softies."
    "Well, I guess I'll be next," Nancy said.
    Janie and I looked at each other. We guessed so too.
     
    When I went home I told my mother. "Gretchen Potter got her period."
    "Did she really?" my mother asked.
    "Yes," I said.
    "I guess you'll begin soon too."
    "How old were you Mom-when you got it?"
    "Uh… I think I was fourteen."
    "
Fourteen
! That's crazy. I'm not waiting until I'm fourteen."
    "I'm afraid there's not much you can do about it, Margaret. Some girls menstruate earlier than others. I had a cousin who was sixteen before she started."
    "Do you suppose that could happen to me? I'll die if it does!"
    "If you don't start by the time you're fourteen I'll take you to the doctor. Now stop worrying!"
    "How can I stop worrying when I don't know if I'm going to turn out normal?"
    "I promise, you'll turn out normal."
     
    Are you there God? It's me, Margaret. Gretchen, my friend, got her period. I'm so jealous God. I hate myself for being so jealous, but I am. I wish you'd help me just a little. Nancy 's sure she's going to get it soon, too. And if I'm last I don't know what I'll do. Oh please God. I just want to be normal.
     
    Nancy and her family went to Washington over Lincoln 's birthday weekend. I got a postcard from her before she got back which means she must have mailed it the second she got there. It only had three words on it.
     
    I GOT IT!
     
    I ripped the card into tiny shreds and ran to my room. There was something wrong with me. I just knew it. And there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I flopped onto my bed and cried. Next week Nancy would want to tell me all about her period and about how grown up she was. Well, I didn't want to hear her good news!
     
    Are you there God? It's me, Margaret. Life is getting worse every day. I'm going to be the only one who doesn't get it. I know it God. Just like I'm the only one without a religion. Why can't you help me? Haven't I always done what you wanted? Please… let me be like everybody else.

16
    My mother took me to Lincoln Center twice. We used Grandma's subscription tickets. It wasn't as much fun as with Grandma, because number one, I didn't get to ride the bus alone, and number two, my mother thought the concert itself was more important than looking at the people. I wrote Grandma a