How to Be Eaten

by Maria Adelmann

“But something changes after tragedy,” she says. “It’s like you’ve spent your whole life putting one foot in front of the other, knowing the ground would always be there to meet you, and then suddenly, one day…it isn’t. The bottom has dropped out. The unbelievable happens and you just…fall.”

Will turns to Raina. “What about you? If you could go back, would you still call that number?” “I can’t say that I wouldn’t,” says Raina. “What’s even the point of asking that?” says Ruby. “We can’t go back.” “Yeah,” agrees Bernice. “Maybe it’s not a thought we should entertain if we’re trying to accept what happened and move forward. What if, for some of us, moving on involves finding good in the bad? Or being thankful for how we changed? That doesn’t mean we wished it to happen.”

“Reality TV isn’t exactly high art,” I noted one day over lunch. Little Man was sitting with his feet propped on the edge of the desk, but he’d had to slide way down in his chair to make it happen. His paper plate took up most of his lap. “I love Starry Night as much as the next guy, but you can only stare at it for so long,” he said. “I change reality. I change what people think.” “Okay, Van Gogh,” I said. “Too much?” he asked. I shrugged. “It must be nice to have a talent, though.” “You have talents,” said Little Man. “Like what?” “Reaching high shelves,” he joked. “Flirting for tips,” I said. “Talent doesn’t mean as much as people pretend it does,” said Little Man.

You can’t change the past, but it’s infinitely reframeable. You can tell the same story over and over a hundred different ways, and every version is a little right and every version is a little wrong.