mothers & daughters fight over bodies neither of them own

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In the most important fight I had with my mom I was 14 wearing a tank top I begged her to buy me
I stand barefoot in the dusty garage but I'm not allowed to get any closer to the car until I change
Apparently, my bare chest is a land
of scandal, and salacious lies, and the insatiable preteen urge to be picked
She asks me who I am wearing this top for
and my cheeks feel red and hot like my mother pinched them with blades
I thought I looked good
Like my favorite YouTubers, like the eighth grade girls I didn’t know I had a crush on, maybe even
like my mom when she was young
When my mother was 14 her body did the same thing mine did
Grow, and grow, and grow
and did not ask at all if we wanted that
We were both uniquely fat,
With rolls the body usually reserves for a post-baby figure
So I was also annoyed that I was dressed inappropriately
because of the tits I had involuntarily
But whatever
I am in my backpack and I am not moving
There isn’t one person I am wearing this top for–I swear to god
My mom gets in the car, no longer speaking to me
and I hate this most because there is nothing to do with silence
Silence is how mature people fight but I’m 14
And I have many more times that I need to raise my voice before I realize it’s ineffective
I change and I tell myself it’s not because of what she said,
I, independently, realized that something else will go with my overly ripped jeans better
I sit in the car and she says that we’re going to be late and I protect my pride by not apologizing
I stare out the window and replay the conversation
Reluctantly, I think of all the nice ways of telling her that I don’t like how my body is changing
And I hate when she draws attention to it
And I hate how she asks who it’s for
And I hate how how in that question she gave my body away
I hate how I am 14 and the honeymoon phase I have with my body is already over
I blame my mother because women are for blaming
I say nothing and neither does she because she knows
Because I look just like her
Because she was 14 first
She knows I hate my body, and that I have confusing crushes, and that I was trying to look older
I was trying to look an age where I can handle being wanted
but I’m not any older, and that is the worst thing that can happen to someone who is 14
So I think in fighting with my mom I arrived at the secret women share:
When you’re young, your body isn’t yours and you fight it
When you’re old, your body isn’t yours and you give in
And the young and old hate each other but you get over it because you realize we’re all voices untethered from bodies fighting
And what is more tragic than that?