Everything's Fine

by Cecilia Rabess

They would make their dispassionate arguments, and when class was over they would calmly pack their textbooks away and Jess would be the only one who’d felt like she’d been kicked in the teeth repeatedly.

This was why Jess hated Law & Society. It was always the same story: oppressed peoples, willful misrememberings of history, a whiff of white supremacy. Unlike calculus or economics, in which the professor silently scratched out the answers at the front of the lecture hall, and in which there was rarely controversy—unless someone got started on infinity!—in these liberal arts classes people insisted on shouting out their opinions, no matter how unseemly. It was a lot to endure for a couple of college credits. Yet here she was.

Why did her success have to be predicated on perfection instead of, say, a vague sense that she was someone people would like to have a beer with?

What a convenient theory, that they’d simply forgotten about her. As if forgetting implied a lack of malice. Forgetting her hard work, her contributions, the fact that she exists. She almost wishes it were intentional and that they harbored some resentment, or somehow viewed her as a threat; that was better than being invisible, a nonentity. But none of this is worth explaining to Josh. No one ever forgets him.

I do think it’s healthy for a soul to have some relationships where there’s no need to explain anything

“You have to ask yourself: ‘Is this person capable of change?’ You can’t change people. Whoo boy! Now that’s a fool’s errand to be sure. Believe me, I know. But. People do change. So, you ask yourself: ‘Is this person on a path of personal growth or are they fighting change?’ And baby? That’s the best you can do.”