 |
| Photo by the Author |
The other day, my little sister–
She just turned 5, time flies by so fast–
Told me she wanted to be an astronaut
And as soon as the words came out of her mouth I wanted to grasp her tiny head in between my hands
Clasped tight, if they were any looser she would float up away into the stars
And hold her face up to mine
Features not yet molded by time, nose jutting up ever so slightly and lips forming a pale pink heart
That beats only for youth and innocence and fun as if those are all that matter in the world
I want to grab her and bring her close up to my face and close my eyes
And tell her to close her eyes and close them
And close them good
And then with all the breath I have in my chest I want to scream.
There are moments of silence where I watch her sleep,
Watch her giggle at a children’s show playing on TV,
Watch her go voooom and wooshhh as she jumps from couch to couch,
Fishbowl wrapped around her head as she screams for me to get into her rocketship and I feel my heart start to ache.
“C’mon, let’s go to space!” She cries
As I run to the next room and hold in a sob and try to control the thumpthumpthumpthump
That rocks my chest back and forth.
When I walk back to the other room my face holds no expression and all I can tell her is no.
No, I won’t play with you.
No, I have work.
(No, you won’t go to the moon.)
(No, they will never let you be anything more than you are meant to be.)
When I turned 12 I told my mother that I wanted to be a singer and for Career Day
She sent me off to school in a bright pink wig and a microphone
And as I sang my heart out I heard my classmates snicker in the background
Pictures and autographs
Fatbitch. Uglybitch. She’llnevermakeitanywherebitch.
You get your face in all the magazines
Bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch.
The best part is that
Not with a face like that not with a nose like that not with who you are.
You get to be whoever you want to be…
At the end of my show my teacher greeted me with a strained smile and
Placed a hand on my back–
Old withered bitch, ugly stupid bitch–
And told me to manage my expectations before sending me back to class,
A room full of hyenas with lips peeled back and grins shaped like daggers,
Chipped with cavities and a "bitch" to throw my way.
When I got my first job singing at Route 66
I ended my first night slumped over my dressing room sink, hands shaking as
Blood dripped from the ends of my fingertips, nails painted ruby red
Across from me, my boss sat with jagged lines across his rancid cheek and with a sneer
He yelled that I would never work in this business again–
You’re dead to me, dead to me bitch!
Stupid whore, stupid bitch!
As I tried to fix my torn-up skirt and wiped my cheeks
to put away the pink wig I never even got to use.
When a man that had been working 6 years less than me got the promotion that I deserved
And the entire room turned to me and waited for me to pounce out of my chair to scream
You bitch! You bitch! I deserved that, you worthless bitch!
I sat with a smile,
Lips turned upwards with hands clasped together,
Veins popping out with tan skin turned alabaster white.
I stare at my sister and she looks up at me with bright eyes.
She is missing one of her front teeth. There is a gap that stares up at me as she smiles.
Let’s go to the moon!
Let’s go see the stars!
Come with me, come with me!
And I sigh
And I shake my head
And I put on the stupid fishbowl
And jump up on the stupid couch and keep my mouth shut.
Maybe she will learn one day:
When she is talked over in class by some snotty boy that will never have to learn that he needs to hold his tongue,
Not the way she does,
Or when she is first groped by another stupid boy and everyone around her will tell her
That it is because he has a crush on her.
It’s always going to be a stupid boy.
There will always be stupid boys
And only they get to reach the moon.
