Cackle

by Rachel Harrison

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

In the city, everyone is rushing toward the past, trying to get to where they needed to be ten minutes ago.

Only animals have eyes like that. Innocent voids. I’ve held a baby before; as soon as we’re born, our eyes are filled with want.

The old me would have just gone with it, done whatever he wanted. Endured, hoped for enjoyment or, if that didn’t come, for it to end quickly. I wonder how much of a woman’s life is spent this way. Enduring. Waiting for enjoyment or, fuck it, death.