The Shallows

by Holly Craig

The fact is, even after ten years, I don’t know my husband. But do we ever really know anyone?

But just like any perfect person who you admire from afar, you can’t invite them into your own house, otherwise they’ll notice the imperfections and the fragilities of your own life. We can’t have people comparing. It’s best to shut them out until you find a crack, a tiny fault in them that levels out the playing field. Then the invitation gets sent out. The olives are poured into ceramic bowls and champagne into flutes. We’re equal, we’re no better than each other. Now we can be friends.

But that’s the thing about neighbours, you have to be careful with how much you know, how involved you become in their lives.

People only see success by who they know and associate with. Where they work and live. What car they drive. They never see the woman crying in the shower, the drinking to get drunk, the bingeing after starving, the relentless running to burn off the pent-up anger.