Hybrid Essay First Draft

4/21/12

Dear Reader,

Originally, I had expressed an idea on our class blog involving myself interviewing strangers about a topic, one of which was love. However, on Friday night as I was scouring Facebook and postponing my composition of this essay I saw an essay which someone had posted as their status. As luck would have it that essay was irritatingly similar to my idea. I then came to the conclusion that I simply could not move forward with my original idea and began brainstorming. I decided that with this new essay idea would eliminate my voice as a mode because I realized that my voice is rather nasal and it might make my now undetermined essay less appealing.

So, I am now debating whether to turn this new essay idea “hybrid” via the addition of poetry or writing the essay out on the top half of a mannequin bust. My new essay topic is one which is personal and marks my transformation from “the-girl-with-the-red-hair” to “the-girl-the-big-boobs.” Puberty transformed that which used to identify me into a mere shadow of that which is now used to identify me. This new identifier shaped my high school experience and informed how people looked at and talked to me—and it still does.

However, I will soon be going for reduction surgery and my old identifier will be resurrected. This surgery, while very personal, was my inspiration for this new essay.  I decided to begin with these first changes I experienced at the start of puberty at the age of twelve. I had gotten my hair braided in Puerto Rico around the same time that my body was starting to change. Upon my return home and removing my braids I was confronted with two thing which began to occur in tandem—the loss of my hair and my growing boobs.

I’d like to use this first experience as a sort of opposing metaphor for the transformation which I’m about to go through. I literally lost my hair for which I was known while I was beginning to grow boobs for which I became known for. Now, I feel as if my hair will be resurrected as my identifier with the reductions of my boobs.

Seeing as how I’ve now committed to this rather personal topic and cannot go back to my previous idea my first draft is not where I’d like it to be, but it’s a start! All criticisms welcome. As far as my hopes for this piece I like for it to maintain a certain sense of humor in light of the topic.

Rebecca Seidman

Hybrid Essay

(NOTE: I changed my topic so the first draft is in progress and not completed to my liking quite yet.)

I stood in the shower as I watched my hair fall to the drain like loose pages of an old book. Holding the lost pages in my hand, I started to cry and my throat felt as if constricted by one of those Chinese finger traps I used to play with as a kid.

My hair was who I was—“the-little-redheaded-girl.”

It was the fourth shower I had taken where this had happened.

As I looked down at the drain, my mind processing what was happening to me I came to the reasonable conclusion that I had cancer and the hair loss was due to my parents secretly replacing my vitamins with “chemo-pills” which I had imagined were a thing.

The hot water rained down on me from above, I was frozen, staring down. First at my body and then at the drain and I noticed something. I noticed that my nipples were puffy, and when I touched them they felt as if two small marbles had been implanted beneath them. This was it. I was a twelve year old with breast cancer.

Self-diagnosed I stepped out of the shower with caution, extending each breath so as to remain calm. I approached my mother who stood at the sink furiously washing dishes and tapped her on the lower back—rationing my words so as not to break.

A doctor’s appointment made for the following day.

As I entered the sterile office decorated with muppets which dangled from the ceiling I was told “the doctor was ready for me.”

“So Rebecca, why are we here today!?” Dr. Banner asked in his jolly way.

“My nipples are hard, and sore.”

“Okay, well let’s take a look!”

The doctor handed me a paper vest and stepped out of the room after motioning for me to put it on. When he returned he had me lay down and pressed his cold index fingers on either side of my right nipple.

“Yup! You are taking a step into womanhood Rebecca! Get ready, because that little friend of yours will likely be coming soon!”

Wait. What? But I thought I was dying. What about my hair?

“Wait, but my hair is also falling out.”

“Well, do you wear it up a lot? Because you still have very thick hair. Elastics can pull your hair out.”

So, who was the culprit? Indeed, it was the corn rows I had gotten on a trip to Puerto Rico.

My heart both sank and felt like a weight had been lifted as I sat there embarrassed that I had just made my mom pay a twenty-five dollar co-pay for a doctor to tell me that I was just growing boobs.