Cackle

by Rachel Harrison

You make so much space in your life and in your heart, and when the person you love leaves, you’re all stretched out. There’s so much room inside me that I don’t know what to do with, space I don’t know how to fill. I’ve been waiting for it to shrivel up, for me to take my former shape, to be how I was before I met him, but it’s not happening. It’s been so long; I don’t even remember who I was before him.

“No. I’ve never had the desire. I suppose it’s made me a pariah, especially in my youth. It was expected, and I shunned the expectation. They say things are better now, that society is more accepting if you don’t want to become a mother. I’m not sure if I find that to be true. Either you want babies or, if you don’t, you must want to eat them.”

Suppression is a useful tool. Honestly, it’s underrated.

“Fate is just another invention to trick us into complacency. Inaction. If one assumes that they cannot change their circumstances, they won’t try. When you think about it, really, there’s a myriad of ways we’re conditioned to passivity. Women, especially. Of course, I realized all of this a long, long time ago. It saved me. It could have just as easily drowned me.”

“Please, pet.” “I’m not your pet!” This particular outburst surprises both of us. I was completely unaware this term of endearment bothered me until this moment. Suddenly, I realize how patronizing it is. How it implies ownership and reinforces an unfair power dynamic. This resentment must have been simmering in my subconscious for months.

He slips his hand onto my thigh, and I study his face. I realize now he hasn’t changed. Nothing about him has changed. He doesn’t look any different, but I see him differently. Because he hurt me, and I’ll never look at him the same.

I wonder how much of a woman’s life is spent this way. Enduring. Waiting for enjoyment or, fuck it, death.

I don’t mind. He fears me because he is small. I will not meet him there. I will not shrink myself down to his size, or anyone else’s, for their comfort. For their appeasement.

“Women are out there tethering themselves to mediocre men just so they can wear a ball gown. It’s a shame.”

Condescension, the quiet destroyer. The spot on the lung discovered too late.