I Know If I Were In Your

Beside Mama, In My Own Folding Chair, With My Feet Sticking Out In Front Of Me, I Thought About My Own Innards. Just A Few Months Before I'd Had No Idea Whether My Reproductive Equipment Worked. There Was No Evidence. But That Week I Had Become A Full-fledged Bleeder And Was Still Absorbed By This First Change In Myself That I Had Ever Noticed. The Click And Buzz Of My Synapses Kept Making The Same Connection. If You Can Change, You Can Also End. Death Had Always Been A Theory To Me. Now I Knew. The Terror Hurt Good And I Nursed It And Played It Like A Loose Tooth.

How Deep And Sticky Is The Darkness Of Childhood, How Rigid The Blades Of Infant Evil, Which Is Unadulterated, Unrestrained By The Convenient Cushions Of Age And Its Civilizing Anesthesia.

Can You Be Happy With The Movies, And The Ads, And The Clothes In The Stores, And The Doctors, And The Eyes As You Walk Down The Street All Telling You There Is Something Wrong With You? No. You Cannot Be Happy. Because, You Poor Darling Baby, You Believe Them.

Perhaps The Strongest Evidence That Women Have As Broad And Deep A Capacity For Physical Aggression As Men Is Anecdotal. And As With Men, This Capacity Has Expressed Itself In Acts From The Brave To The Brutal, The Selfless To The Senseless.

I Come From A Family Of Great Readers And Storytellers.