I Was Anastasia

by Ariel Lawhon

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. —SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

Virginia in August feels very much to Anna as though she has taken up residence directly in the white-hot center of Satan’s armpit.

Words are important, but they only tell part of the story. It’s impossible to know their full meaning without seeing how they glance at one another, pull at their sleeves, or hold the glass in their hands. A thousand truths are written across the body during any given conversation, and they often say more than the words spoken aloud.

Raptio. Rape. Rapacious. Rapine. Raptor. Ravish. Only in Latin can one root word be the basis for myriad appalling descriptors. Horrible, vulgar, violent words. Brutish and masculine. I hate them all and the language from which they originated. Latin deserves to be a dead language, and I do not mourn it.

“We can only know that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom.”

“Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the society of clever women.”

This is how the human heart beats, a twisted staccato of love and envy, of anger and relief.

I am an enthusiast, not an expert.