The Girls' Locker Room

It was the first time I had a safe place, the first place that was my own with a lock. I was the only one with the combination, and it gave me a new sense of security for things that I thought meant something. Even if it was just my journal or a sketchbook or a note from my boyfriend, I knew it wouldn’t be found under my mattress or in an old shoebox in my closet at home.

I went through phases with my locker. In Junior High, it was hearts and uni- corns and a magazine cutout of Johnny Depp. I kept my notebooks in sparkle Hello Kitty boxes and hid the first love letter I ever got from a boy in my class named Jared.

When I got into 9th grade I was obsessed with Siouxie Sioux. I put her up all over my locker, wrote her lyrics in red lipstick on the door, and stashed my razor blade collection in her album cover. I made out with Danny Fenton against my locker every day before English.

By the time I was a Senior, I was really into Japanese anime. My sketchbooks were filled with Sailor Moon. I got in trouble every day because my plaid minis were too short, and my mom hated the studded suspenders I wore. I would keep the studs in my locker and change in the bathroom every day before I ditched. I spray painted my locker in hot pink and turquoise and wrote “fuck art” with black sharpie all over the inside.

The locker changed with my age and obsessions, but the combo numbers always stayed the same. 36-44-79. I will never forget my combination.

My gym locker, on the other hand, acted as a whole different memory. I remem- ber undressing in an open room of thirty other girls. It was the first time I was naked in front of someone besides family members. I remember being embar- rassed to change into my sports bra before gym. I would open my locker and face inside to change, so nobody could see anything but my back. My locker and I had a very intimate relationship.

After a few semesters, though, I stopped caring and my friends and I would try to drag out our locker room time so we could miss the warm-ups. It was a secure little hide-out to catch up on our high school gossip and talk about whatever we wanted in privacy. I made my best friend in the locker room. We both hated gym but had a crush on our gym teacher, Mr. Bronson.

It’s a small metal box with a combination lock, but looking back, it became a significant part of my adolescent years. It held my individuality, my artis- tic outbreaks and everything that I had that was just for me. It was always there and always mine. It was my right of passage. It was my locker.