Theory of Bastards

by Audrey Schulman

In her thesis, having shown that females could have strong aesthetic preferences utterly unrelated to evolutionary survival, she ventured the theory that females who shared a similar ideal of male beauty (no matter how capricious) would outcompete those who didn’t. Using the analogy of fashion trends, as well as some elegant math, she pointed out it didn’t matter what the desired style was—high hems or low hems, top hats or red stockings—only that the majority of available and healthy females wanted it.

The men in her department were confounded by her study, kept asking about it. They seemed to have a hard time putting the words male and beauty in the same sentence, or female and desire.

Two years before, she’d learned that red meat, chocolate and wine accelerated endometriosis.

Under the kitchen counter, he pushed his knees hard enough against hers that she had to shift slightly. The bank vault opened. She said in her gravelly voice, Not if they’re like you. The station got a fair number of calls.

She informed another if he learned not to interrupt then maybe his wife would have sex with him more often.

One of the strongest correlations was that the man needed to smell good to the woman.

No, a person would only use please with someone who could really understand language, someone who also had choice, someone who also did not have to obey.

He said, Most people think of the enclosure as a method to keep them in captivity. It’s more of a restraint for humans, to stop us from killing them. It says, Don’t shoot; private property.

Most factory workers had been replaced by high-tech machinery, administrative assistants by apps. Lately big data had taken the jobs of many doctors and lawyers.

The teacher had been doing the same to different students, forcing them to practice retrieving the respirator with a slow roll of the arm.

She discovered, without adhesions, she had a walk that bounced.

Lines of carpenter ants bustled across the floor and walls, doing their best to transform the building into sawdust.

JayJay’s best friend lived in a Village apartment with a warm-bunk schedule. It took 10 of them to pay the rent on the small apartment, so each roommate was given a scheduled time to sleep, the blankets still warm from the last person.

And she really needed the cheap rent, because a majority of her income went to her health insurance and medical expenses.

When he asked why, she answered flatly the mornings were when she had her chemo.

Her credit card bill grew larger every month. She could barely manage the interest, much less pay down the debt.

The desire for romantic love was strong, yet a person could fall in love with any number of people—the resulting relationships broken sometimes for the smallest of complaints: he didn’t do the dishes, her friends weren’t fun.

The parent-child bond was different. Even though the relationship started off with the parents in the role of the lowest sort of slaves (wiping the master’s butt, responsible for every meal, being screamed at for mysterious infractions in the middle of the night), what parents divorced their newborn? No, instead hopped up on hormones, they gasped with joy at any moment devoid of physical pain, filled with love for their incontinent tyrant.

The gallantry of strong men, she realized, must break the hearts of old women.

When a person is in pain, she notes, language disappears.