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with a C.
    But I’m not.

    ———

    I arrive at home and quietly place my certificate on the kitchen table. Vomit burns in my mouth. Mother looks at the blood seeping through my pants and hands me a wad of sheep’s wool. ‘Now you are a woman,’ she says.
    I wonder where boys have to bleed from to be considered men.
    Once I return from the bathroom, I see my parents looking down at the certificate as if it soils the house. They say nothing. My mother is breathing heavily. Father produces a grunt. This is the shittiest certificate of the year, yet, they don’t say a peep. Full wrath would have been a normal reaction.
    Before they boil over, I sneak away to celebrate the end of hell and the beginning of my first and only menses. Maybe celebrating doesn’t quite describe what I’m doing, but two life-changing events and one life-ending event in a single day have to be acknowledged somehow, and as turbines and solitude are my favourite companions, one might even call this a party.
    Rays of sunlight caress the reservoir. Lazy ripples throw dark-golden sparks in all directions. I open my mouth wide and stick my tongue out to catch all scents, aromas, colours, and flavours. Pollen, sunlight on water, wet grass, earth. I press the soles of my feet deep into the soil until mud squeezes through the gaps between my toes. I feel so alive now I could explode. Here, with no one else to be compared to, I’m enough.
    Half of the sun is hovering above the mountains — one big fat orange slice, its bottom sawed off by a line of firs and rock. I think of an overripe peach and juice dripping down my elbows when I take a bite. It’s almost harvest time.
    Loud rattling behind me tickles my eardrums. Chain links are pulled in, the reverse-vents open while the forward-vents close — a process set in motion by the waning solar energy. Air hisses through small leaks in the piping, forming a pocket of bubbling noise. I love sitting up here on this massive, energy-generating system, watching the lights flicker on down in the village.
    When the first wave of water from the reservoir hits the turbine blades, it sounds like an avalanche of rocks banging against metal. A moment later, it’s only a soft rushing noise that mingles with the low hum of the generator. The earth beneath me vibrates — subtly and easy to miss, but it’s there. I can feel it in my feet and in the small of my back.
    And then the vibration lessens. Something’s wrong. I prick my ears. The noise of water pressing against blades grows limp. The swoosh is less than a trickle.
    Puzzled, I stand and gaze along the wall into the reservoir. Kind of stupid, because I can’t see down to where the water enters the ducts anyway.
    The quickly approaching night dictates my moves. I hurry to the control cabinet and open it. A small red warning light is blinking, indicating a resistance somewhere between the upper and the lower reservoir. The security gate that blocks all water from surging downhill is now automatically lowered and the safety brakes are engaged. As soon as the gate and the brakes are in place, I flip the main switch to keep all moving parts locked. Only a few minutes, and people in the village will sit in the dark.
    I press the button for the emergency underwater lights, yank off my shirt and pants, and…damn, the wool pad. The bloody thing has to stay here. I take it off together with my panties, and run to the dam, stark naked. Sucking in as much air as will fit in my lungs, I jump. Cold compresses my chest. I clench my teeth and strain my eyes. My surroundings grow darker with each additional metre of water I leave above me. I make a semi-yawn at the back of my throat, letting my ears pop. It’s now pitch-dark except for the four pale-green dots in the deep. I keep kicking until I see the stainless steel bars to the turbine’s mouth, illuminated by a pair of dim lights on either side. The entrance is clear.  
    I turn and push hard with my arms and legs.