Before the World Told Us Who to Be

Now, I’m not saying I did these things.
I’m just saying I heard about some girls, local girls, small-town girls, who got a little too creative when they got bored.

From what I gather, these girls were tight-knit. Grew up running barefoot through pine needles and learning to drive on backroads before they had learner’s permits. The kind of girls who knew how to open a soda bottle with a lighter and sneak a bottle of Boone’s Berry wine through a bedroom window without making a sound.

They’d stay up laughing all night, passing the bottle like it was communion and giggling until someone snorted. Nobody had a plan, just a little buzz and a strong desire to make the night not boring.

Now, rumor has it, some of these girls had access to compound bows.
Yes, real ones. The kind their daddies and brothers used for deer season.

And apparently, allegedly, they’d load up in the back of a pickup truck around 3:00 a.m., cruise through town, and take turns shooting arrows at the billboard outside the bank. The one with the big star logo.

Supposedly, they’d keep score like Olympic archers. A bullseye meant you were queen of the night. And the sheriff? Fast asleep, bless him. Probably never knew his town had a roaming band of teenage Katniss Everdeens.

I also heard whispers about house-wrapping escapades. Toilet paper galore. If your yard had a tree, heck, if it had a bush, you were fair game. Some folks woke up thinking it had snowed Charmin.

Then there was the firecracker phase.

Apparently, these girls kept firecrackers in their pockets like it was totally normal, lit them with lighters they weren’t supposed to have, and tossed them out of the truck just to hear them pop and scatter like tiny bombs of joy.

But the most scandalous and naughty tale?

Well, there was this highway. And a prison. A real one.
And behind a tall fence was the rec yard, where the inmates played basketball or lifted weights under the Texas sun.

In the middle of the day, mind you. Broad daylight.

And I heard, now, I can’t confirm this, of course, but I heard that these same girls would pile into the back of the truck and, just as they passed the prison yard… lift their shirts and flash the inmates.

I’m talking full-blown, hootin’-and-hollerin’ chaos on both sides of the fence.
The prisoners cheered.
The girls cackled.
And I never let the truck slow down….I mean, they never let the truck slow down.

Of course, these are just stories.
Small towns have a way of stretching the truth.
But I’ll say this,

If they were true, those girls weren’t criminals.
They were just bored, bold, and brilliant in their own unruly way.

And if one of them looked a lot like me?
Well… let’s just say I’ve always admired their spirit. 😉

Because somewhere between the arrows and the ice cream, the toilet paper and the late-night laughter, a bond was sealed.

A sacred kind of sisterhood that teaches you how to be brave, how to be wild, how to be seen. It’s where you first learn that your voice has power, your body holds magic, and some secrets are kept not out of shame, but out of honor.

It was that precious in-between, after childhood, but before heartbreak.
Before boys, before bills, before the world told us who to be.
Just girls, caught in the golden hour of becoming.

We didn’t pinky swear. We just carved it into our hearts and called it girlhood.