Passing

by Nella Larsen

Besides, Clare always had a—a—having way with her.” Precisely that! The words came to Irene as she sat there on the Drayton roof, facing Clare Kendry. “A having way.” Well, Irene acknowledged, judging from her appearance and manner, Clare seemed certainly to have succeeded in having a few of the things that she wanted.

And I must say I don’t blame them. Money’s awfully nice to have. In fact, all things considered, I think, ’Rene, that it’s even worth the price.”

Her understanding was rapidly increasing, as was her pity and her contempt. Clare was so daring, so lovely, and so “having.”

The trouble with Clare was, not only that she wanted to have her cake and eat it too, but that she wanted to nibble at the cakes of other folk as well.

“You mean you don’t want me, ’Rene?”

Oh my god

“I’m beginning to believe,” she murmured, “that no one is ever completely happy, or free, or safe.”

And I don’t think the others do either. Not honestly, I mean. I think that what they feel is—well, a kind of emotional excitement. You know, the sort of thing you feel in the presence of something strange, and even, perhaps, a bit repugnant to you; something so different that it’s really at the opposite end of the pole from all your accustomed notions of beauty.”

😔 irene colorism moments

“But it’s true, ’Rene. Can’t you realize that I’m not like you a bit? Why, to get the things I want badly enough, I’d do anything, hurt anybody, throw anything away. Really, ’Rene, I’m not safe.”

Why should she hesitate? Why spare Clare?

It was, she cried silently, enough to suffer as a woman, an individual, on one’s own account, without having to suffer for the race as well.

Intersectionality babey

I gave up the idea, because you objected. Don’t expect me to give up everything.”

Security. Was it just a word? If not, then was it only by the sacrifice of other things, happiness, love, or some wild ecstasy that she had never known, that it could be obtained?

She stammered: “Is she—is she—?” It was Felise who answered. “Instantly, we think.” Irene struggled against the sob of thankfulness that rose in her throat.

Death by misadventure, I’m inclined to believe.