Such Sharp Teeth

by Rachel Harrison

A yawn crawls out of me. It’s dramatic about it.

Looking into his eyes feels like eating something delicious you can’t totally enjoy because you know it’s really bad for you. His eyes are fucking me up. Giving me high cholesterol.

I open a single sleepy eye to watch Ian get out of bed. Sunlight’s coming in from somewhere. A skylight? I hate it.

I decide to venture out to the 7-Eleven in hope they have hot dogs. They do. “Hi,” I say to the clerk. “Can I have all the hot dogs?” There’s a long pause. “I’m sorry. Did you say you wanted all of the hot dogs?” “Yes,” I say. “You want all of the hot dogs?” “Yes. Please.”

There’s no winning. The trauma is either your fault or it’s a gift. It’s either You should have done this to stop it or Look what good has come of it! If you don’t get over it, why can’t you get over it? Why can’t you get past it or learn how to cope? Or if you do find some way to move on with your life in a socially acceptable manner, then you’re so brave and so strong, and aren’t you amazing? Let’s applaud you for moving forward while there’s a knife at your back.