Cackle

by Rachel Harrison

It’s like how some people walk into a house and know that it’s haunted. I know they want nothing to do with me.

I’d forgotten the difference between choosing not to participate and being excluded.

As I walk by, they turn to me, smile and say, “Good morning,” or “Hello.” Every single person. And every time it happens, it’s like a sip of hot tea. It’s macaroni and cheese; it’s cozy slippers; it’s cashmere. It’s comfort.

“Fate is just another invention to trick us into complacency. Inaction. If one assumes that they cannot change their circumstances, they won’t try. When you think about it, really, there’s a myriad of ways we’re conditioned to passivity. Women, especially.

I almost say that I can’t believe it, but I stop myself. Instead, I say, “There’s a lot I used to believe wasn’t possible.”

It’s astonishing what you’ll accept when you want love. When you need it. You’ll welcome it in any form, from anyone, anything, regardless of circumstance, however peculiar. However fantastical.

I never realized how much bullshit is bound to the bottom of your hair. How it carries with it the years and experiences, all it has witnessed, has endured. The reason you can’t let go of your past is that it’s still attached. That weight on your shoulders, the strain on your back and neck. It’s your dead ends.

He fears me because he is small. I will not meet him there. I will not shrink myself down to his size, or anyone else’s, for their comfort. For their appeasement.