My Dark Vanessa

by Kate Elizabeth Russell

“If there’s one thing you take away from this class, it should be that the world is made of endlessly intersecting stories, each one valid and true.”

“This time of year just makes me feel nuts. Like I’m running out of time or something. Like I’m wasting my life.”

Me every single fall

“Is writing ever really finished?”

I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, study my face and hair and try to see myself as Mr. Strane sees me, a girl with maple-red hair who wears nice dresses and has good style, but I can’t get past the sight of myself as a pale, freckled child.

I start to realize the point isn’t really whether I like the books; it’s more about him giving me different lenses to see myself through.

“Pathetically in love with you.” As soon as he says this, I become someone somebody else is in love with, and not just some dumb boy my own age but a man who has already lived an entire life, who has done and seen so much and still thinks I’m worthy of his love.

“I still can’t believe he stole the election,” I say. “They all steal elections,” Mom says. “It’s just not so bad when a Democrat does it.”

know. You’re holding me in your little hands.” Break his heart? I try to imagine myself having that power, holding his heart, mine to abuse, but even when I picture it pulsing and pumping in my hands, it’s still the boss of me, leading me around, jerking me this way and that with me clinging and unable to let go.

“This will follow you around forever. You’ll be branded for life.” I want to say, Too late. That I walk around every day feeling permanently marked by him,

“But they’re just girls.” My voice cracks, a sob chokes out, and it feels like observing someone else cry, a woman playing the role of me.

It’s normal. All interesting women had older lovers when they were young. It’s a rite of passage. You go in a girl and come out not quite a woman but closer, a girl more conscious of herself and her own power. Self-awareness is a good thing. It leads to confidence, knowing one’s place in the world.

The biggest lie sold to women and girls.

Somehow I sensed what was coming for me even then. Really, though, what girl doesn’t? It looms over you, that threat of violence. They drill the danger into your head until it starts to feel inevitable. You grow up wondering when it’s finally going to happen.

“Don’t touch me,” I bark when he tries to pull my dress strap down my shoulder. “I’ll die if you touch me.”

And just like that I’m 15 again reading Lo

“He was a grown man and you were fifteen,” she says. “What could you have possibly done to torture him?”