Lightning in a Mason Jar

by Catherine Mann

As if a woman’s entire worth, her sum total sense of self, were tied into her ring finger and uterus. A Mrs. or a mom.

Excitement and terror are close kin. Outwardly they resemble each other. Anticipation and fear both flip the stomach, set the heart racing, dilate the pupils, and accelerate breathing. So it wasn’t any wonder that people would assume I was afraid. But I wasn’t. Not anymore.

How had I missed the pattern of women being shuttled away when they became a problem?

“But there’s going to come a time when people like me are going to get tired of carrying the burden of helping white folks trying to understand.”

Why had it taken me so long to see her hidden message to her daughter and any other females out there? Maintain a clean house, stay pretty as a peach, and keep your children quiet. The stakes for doing otherwise were high. Life or death.

“Hello, Eloise, I’m Mary Jo, and for the first time since I turned eighteen, I’m not afraid Fred will kill me.”