THE NAMING OF FEMKE MEIJBOOM
You lay on your bed, surrounded by pillows, breathing deeply. Today’s the day. Today’s the day your life will change. Mom says it’s no big deal, but you know differently. It was different for her, after all. Mom’s name meant caring. She went right into nursing, then motherhood. Of course she’d say it’s no big deal.
But you?
Jumping off your bed, you start collecting your things for the ceremony. Beautiful navy dress—check. Sky blue headband—check. Cerulien gloves. If you had to stand in front of a group of people, at least you could do it decked in your favorite color. You step into your dress and twirl. Then twirl again. Then again. Until you’re suddenly dancing across your bedroom floor. Jumping on your bed; dropping to your knees; shaking your head from side to side.
Suddenly, there’s a loud knock on the door.
“Femke? What are you doing in there?”
You immediately stand, pressing your dress flat against your body. “Nothing, mom!” you say, almost laughing to yourself. “Just getting ready is all.”
“Well, hurry, please. The Reader’s already here. And so is the rest of the family.”
“Dad?” you ask, quietly. Your stomach tightens.
There’s a pause at the door. “No, sweetie. But your sister and I are here. And we couldn’t be prouder.”
“I’ll be down soon,” you say. Then crack the door open and blow her a kiss. Her smile softens every last nerve in your body.
Alone in your room, you take one last look in the mirror. Smooth your hair back into a ponytail; slip on your gloves; take three deep breaths. Then walk out to the living room.
Your family is there. Your sister, smiling at you. Your mom, beaming at you. Aunts, uncles, cousins. They’re all there. All but one. You push that thought aside, though. This is your moment. Yours and your family’s. So you square your shoulders and approach the Reader.
Her eyes survey you like a statue. Up and down; circling you where you stand. Finally, minutes later, she pulls from her pouch a quill and slip of parchment. For a few breathless seconds, she lets the quill tip swim across the paper, ink forming letters you can’t yet see. But know. Know it’s producing a word that will define your everything.
Finally, she holds out the parchment. No one yet, not even the Reader knows what your Naming has revealed. Until you grasp the paper in your hands. You breathe deep; stare directly into your mom’s eyes.
Then speak.
“Femeke Meijboom. Peace.”
But you?
Jumping off your bed, you start collecting your things for the ceremony. Beautiful navy dress—check. Sky blue headband—check. Cerulien gloves. If you had to stand in front of a group of people, at least you could do it decked in your favorite color. You step into your dress and twirl. Then twirl again. Then again. Until you’re suddenly dancing across your bedroom floor. Jumping on your bed; dropping to your knees; shaking your head from side to side.
Suddenly, there’s a loud knock on the door.
“Femke? What are you doing in there?”
You immediately stand, pressing your dress flat against your body. “Nothing, mom!” you say, almost laughing to yourself. “Just getting ready is all.”
“Well, hurry, please. The Reader’s already here. And so is the rest of the family.”
“Dad?” you ask, quietly. Your stomach tightens.
There’s a pause at the door. “No, sweetie. But your sister and I are here. And we couldn’t be prouder.”
“I’ll be down soon,” you say. Then crack the door open and blow her a kiss. Her smile softens every last nerve in your body.
Alone in your room, you take one last look in the mirror. Smooth your hair back into a ponytail; slip on your gloves; take three deep breaths. Then walk out to the living room.
Your family is there. Your sister, smiling at you. Your mom, beaming at you. Aunts, uncles, cousins. They’re all there. All but one. You push that thought aside, though. This is your moment. Yours and your family’s. So you square your shoulders and approach the Reader.
Her eyes survey you like a statue. Up and down; circling you where you stand. Finally, minutes later, she pulls from her pouch a quill and slip of parchment. For a few breathless seconds, she lets the quill tip swim across the paper, ink forming letters you can’t yet see. But know. Know it’s producing a word that will define your everything.
Finally, she holds out the parchment. No one yet, not even the Reader knows what your Naming has revealed. Until you grasp the paper in your hands. You breathe deep; stare directly into your mom’s eyes.
Then speak.
“Femeke Meijboom. Peace.”
