Towelhead by Alicia Erian Read Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t sure what I would say. Maybe he was right. Maybe nothing really had happened.
    On Saturday, Daddy wanted to get some new clothes for his date, so we went to the mall. At Foley’s department store, a salesman showed him some different sport jackets, and Daddy tried them all on. He asked me what I thought of them, and I said they were nice, even though they looked exactly like the ones at home in his closet. He ended up buying a navy blue one, along with a blue striped tie. I thought we would leave then, but instead, he said I needed some new things, too. “No, I don’t,” I said, since shopping for clothes with Daddy sounded as bad as shopping for maxi-pads. But he said yes I did, and that I was starting to sag.
    As I followed him through the store, I couldn’t stop thinking about this. That I was sagging. I couldn’t stop thinking that for Daddy to have known it, he would’ve had to be looking at my boobs.
    In the ladies’ underwear department, he asked the saleswoman to help us. He mentioned again that I was sagging, and she said that I probably needed to start wearing underwires. Then she got a tape measure and used it right there, in front of Daddy. I didn’t have to take off my shirt or anything, but the tape got stretched across my nipples. “Thirty-four C,” the saleswoman said, and Daddy whistled like he couldn’t believe it.
    While the two of them went off to find me some bras, I sat in a pink velvet chair next to the cash register and thought about my mother. The last time she’d taken me shopping, she’d tried to get me to wear underwires, too, but I wouldn’t. They hurt too much. “You won’t be happy if you end up with stretch marks,” she said, but I still wouldn’t do it. After a while, she gave up. We went to the food court and got hot dogs, and she told me that one day I would make some man very happy. “I will?” I asked, and she nodded. “Even with stretch marks,” she said. Then she met Barry a few months later, and I guessed he wasn’t the man she had been thinking of.
    Soon, Daddy and the saleswoman came back with a bunch of different bras. She took me in the fitting room and told me to press a little red button if I needed help, and I said I would. I undressed and put on the prettiest one first. It was silvery gray with a tiny bow at the center. I couldn’t tell if it fit or not, so I pressed the red button. When I opened the door to my dressing room, though, it was Daddy standing there. I crossed my hands over my chest, but he said to move them so he could check the fit. “Where’s the lady?” I asked, and he said she was busy with another customer. When I still didn’t uncross my arms, he said to stop this nonsense, that a bra was no different from a bathing suit.
    I really couldn’t stand the sight of Daddy in the mirror, looking at me. I couldn’t stand the way he tugged at the hooks on the bra, or made adjustments to the shoulder straps. I didn’t understand why he wanted to know so much about my body if he didn’t even like it. I thought he should keep away from it instead. I thought only people who really and truly liked it should get to see it.
    He ended up buying me seven new bras, one for each day of the week. The saleswoman told him that not many fathers would take the time to make sure that their daughters had proper foundation garments, and I could tell that made him happy. She gave him a bra club card so we could get a discount the next time we came in, and he said we’d see her next year.
    As soon as we got home, Daddy told me to go put one of my new bras on and show him. I thought he meant without a shirt, like in the dressing room, but when I came out like that, he slapped me and asked what the hell I was doing. I started to cry and ran back in my room, and a little while later, he came and knocked at the door. “What’s the problem in