The Night Guest

by Hildur Knútsdóttir

I know that the world’s sorrows are both abundant and profound and that a cat allergy is perhaps insignificant in the larger scheme of things. But there is something so unfair about loving cats and being relegated to do so from a distance.

Because there is nothing worse than having unexplained symptoms. Feeling like there’s something terribly wrong—but nothing that can be measured in exams, and you know the doctor thinks it’s all in your head.

This always happens. Everyone will be having a good chat until I say something wrong and feel as though I’ve been exposed as the alien in the group. Ta-da! Did you think I was one of you? Hahaha!

Because people can’t tolerate silence. Not even a soft silence on the phone. Silences are, of course, worse in person, and most people will do anything to fill them, especially women. Centuries of socialization have conditioned us into believing that it’s our responsibility to create a cozy atmosphere and ensure that no one is embarrassed about anything. That’s why we laugh at jokes that offend us. That’s why we smile at people who pat us on the butt. That’s why we pretend that it’s just a coincidence when the boss repeatedly brushes against our breasts at work. Because anything else would be just so embarrassing. For everybody.