Feminism

There is a tall man standing at the top of the hill. He is wearing black pants and a black suit jacket. It appears that he has been unfaithful to his wife because he is alone and pacing on top of a lonely hill. His appearance is so very, very important. The hill is called Loneliness Apex.

I walk across the sand and into the sea. I make the fish talk to me and they say, “Crucify yourself so the waves don’t pull you away.” I know that I have been stupid; it’s no wonder I can’t breathe. Oh, I feel so sick, so f*****g sick.

Fish: You know they’re too busy to talk to you

Me: I can’t make this make sense

Fish You don’t know what you’re talking about

Me: I swear that I know what I mean

Fish: Forgive them

Me: It’s my fault anyway

Fish: Forgive them

Me: But I’m drowning

Fish: You’re a coward

I begin to vomit and then turn pale and cold. The fish sighs, “Oh, for God’s sake- keep  your mouth shut, it’s just some motion in your stomach. Dear girl, you are so disconnected but no one knows how much they need to help you. I’d give you my gills if I thought they’d let you find air.” His words are sentences but I know they belong in poetry.

On Loneliness Apex, the man is crying. His snot runs all over his sleeve, leaving crusty transparent spots on the ironed fabric. He hurts himself, digging his fingernails into the skin of his arm. There is no movement except for what he notices. The trees make a mistake and don’t talk to him. He sweats excessively, disgustingly.  There is buildup and there is letdown. There are secrets and there are truths. The memories don’t want to be forgotten, but he is impatient.

When I met Tim, I thought he was going to kill himself. He stood at the edge of his roof, staring down at a cement slab.

“Brother, you’re the reason we still can’t win,” I said.

He looked up and smiled. “I’m afraid to die.”

I walked on, far too aware.

When my father stuck his hands down my pants, I became discredited.

“You can have my soul if you want it, Daddy- take anything you want from me.”

“Oh, you’re such a brave girl.”

“F**k you! I hate you!”

“I love you so much, sweetheart.”

Tim tucked a cigarette behind my ear and kissed me. We read Goethe in his bed and I put my hand on his back. He told me that everything was going to be okay. He told me that I was brave.

The hill is resolved to torture him. Really, it won’t say a goddamn word. He screams at it and capitalizes his sentences by slamming his fists into the ground.

I wore a black dress and he black pants and a black suit jacket. We danced and I leaned him against a wall and he said I wasn’t allowed to take drugs anymore and I said you have no idea and he let me trust him to touch me and and and and and and and and and and and and

and you will bow boldly, tell me you’re sorry

and my red fingernails made his stomach quiver and every word I said was really truly beautiful and I looked into his eyes and then they turned that awful shade of peridot and I knew that I was so, so wrong. I stuck my hands down his pants and discredited him.

When he fell asleep, I crawled away and looked to the window for a breeze. I did not understand it. This night my mother slept on the top floor of the hospital. Her hair was sticky with blood and I feared that she was no longer my mother. (How could I seek revenge on a woman I wanted to believe had no soul?) All along the wall there were lines which met in indecipherable patterns. My eyes were fuzzy with nighttime bees again, and nobody knew where I was.

On the side of the hill is a flower path willing to speak. GROW SOME EMOTIONAL SKIN, it says. Tim sighs and walks home, aware.

So I begin again, my dear.

I stood up and grabbed your hand and walked us down the icy street, and you said you were hungry so we went to a restaurant and you had an omelette and I drank coffee.

In the booth across from us sat a couple, arguing. The man spat venom when he spoke, “I know where you’ve been,” and the woman touched a bruise on the side of her arm, making sad eyes at the ground until the man threw his napkin down and left.

You touched my finger and said, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t f*****g like that guy.”

“Stop swearing, it makes you sound ignorant.”

“Sorry.”

“It really bothers me when you swear.”

“Okay, sorry, gosh.”

I wiped my mouth and you stirred your cup, speaking, “I guess I don’t worry about them. People do what they do and nothing will ever make that any more understandable.”

“I just don’t feel right, I feel like I have no control over anything and no matter what happens someone still rips up my artwork and mocks me for being too heartbroken about it. I keep writing things down but that doesn’t help; everything is ruined because it can never last long enough, and it’s all my fault, right? I’m so ungrateful because I don’t listen when people tell me things that they stole from somebody else who has already told me, but they still feel so smart, they’re so f*****g smart, they know everything and I’m wrong because I believe in the unknown, in everything plus love, in so many things, I believe in nearly every possibility as long as it makes me feel happy, yeah, I want to be happy again. Well, I hate them, I hate everyone because they are just like me, because they won’t let me talk, they won’t listen, they won’t even try to consider that I want to love them, I need to love them all!”

You sighed and I kept going.

“What should I say? What do you want to hear? Oh, I love you, you’re my white bird, I trust you with my forever, won’t you marry me? We could change the world, couldn’t we change the world? I think we could change the world, if only you’d marry me. Come on, please?

You interrupted, “Hey...”

I stared at you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t stop being ridiculously dismal, it’s my father again, he’s making me insane, I wish he’d die and I’m a terrible coward for it, I’m terrible and crazy because I have no free will, I died years ago, I can remember the day I died, and here you are saying you never asked to be alive, how dare you say that? You’re looking at things the wrong way! I never asked to know what I do but I still do and it’s unfair and none of your business to debate, you won’t help me, you won’t care enough but you’ll still rest your head in my lap and say you care so much, oh you care so much, and how it hurts you! That makes me feel worse; I’m just a burden, you don’t want to help me, no one really wants to help because they’re self-absorbed a******s. I’m terrible, I’m a terrible person, and I want to marry you but just forget it, forget what torments me and how I suffer... answer me, oh won’t you answer me? Say yes, I need you, I keep talking about the goodness and I need you for that, stop giving me reasons to doubt that you are all of my sanity, you are beautiful and I love you, I am ugly and you hate me... love me, please love me! Bring me back to life, destroy my father, make me sane, marry me, marry me! I’m not going to ask you again...”