The Return of Ellie Black

by Emiko Jean

Sometimes she wondered at how small she felt. What hands had shaped her, worn her down.

Chelsey’s lips twitched, hating the implication that being born female made you automatically guilty of something.

Danny seemed nice. But it was the nice guys you had to watch out

for. The mean ones, they wore their crimes on their sleeves, carting them around with all their messy emotional baggage. Nice guys buried things deep.

She cut herself up on the razor’s edge of hope.

Mom was always worried about money. About how much things cost. How much I cost. Sometimes I wondered if I hated her. Which hurt to think of. Then I wondered if she hated me. Which hurt even more to think of.

I didn’t say the words back. Withholding love was a power play. I had a mean streak a mile wide.

I wish this wasn’t what it means to be female—it is not a matter of if something bad will happen, but when.

there was a way to know when you were experiencing the happiest moments of your life.

“Go away. Go far away. Stay safe. Stay alive.” Now, it makes me sad to think about how far I’ve gone, how far I’ve traveled from myself. I’m not sure I can ever return. How do we let go of what no longer exists?

But often, Chelsey wondered if her father, if people in general, should spend less time protecting daughters and more time worrying about sons.

When will it be enough? How society accepts women dying at the hands of men. Chelsey mourns girlhood.