Waif

by Samantha Kolesnik

My tears were always a problem. My emotions were an even bigger problem. Ever since I had been little, the shocks and waves of others’ cruelty had rocked me apparently just a bit too much. I’m not sure how men thought women were supposed to react to pain because our tears seemed to send them into panic or rage. We would have been better as sponges . . . absorbent and full of holes.

That was the crux of my oppressive experience with men in the flesh—the ones you wished would touch you never did, and the ones you never wanted to touch you did so without asking.