a conversation with The Girl

“so, you’re, what, jealous of me?” she asks, sitting there on the couch, dressed up for a fun night out.

“yes.” i stand in front of her, looking down at her.

“because i’m pretty?” The Girl smiles sweetly.

“no.”

“then why?” her smile widens. her eyes narrow.

“all i know is, it’s not because you’re pretty…no. i don’t mind that you look good to everyone from every angle and i require specific circumstances; a good angle, one good angle, lighting, the right zoom & focus…i guess i mind a little, but maybe that’s just insecurity talking, so no. i suppose i don’t want to look good to everyone, i don’t want to please everyone, i look like my ancestors, i honor that…no, i don’t want to look like you. there’s only one thing you have that i really, really want.”

“what’s that one thing?” she’s frowning now.

i take a few steps back, and point at her legs. “when i saw that picture of you on the beach, i didn’t want to look like you then. no, i wanted to be where you were. i wanted the ability to be where you were. i want that ability, your ability, i want my own, i want it back.”

“what?……oh, god, why can’t i get up? why can’t i move?” The Girl is trying to stand up off the couch, but she can’t.

“this is how it feels…you can move, by the way. if you tried hard enough. you can move…it’s just really, really hard.”

“did you do this to me?”

“yes. in a moment of pettiness and yes, jealousy, i wanted us to switch places.”

“s-switch places?”

“it’s been a long time since i’ve been to the beach. no, really. it’s been a long time since i’ve been walking on the beach. running. it’s been a long time since i’ve played sports. your body, at this point, gives you good social status, but i don’t care about what people think, i don’t care what rules society makes, i’m not even a girl, i don’t need to look like you, i need to feel what you probably take for granted every day; it’s a kind of freedom, you know.”

“freedom??”

“yes, freedom. power. strength. autonomy. i miss it. oh god,” i suddenly feel tears forming, streaking down my face, “i miss it so much. i wish i could have just a taste.”

“what are you going to do to me?” The Girl asks. she is still terrified. she doesn’t understand. do i?

“nothing. i’m going to do nothing to you.” i think i do understand. “in fact, i’m going to give it all back.”

“give it back, give what back?”

i’m angry, but relatively honorable. there’s no changing my mind. “stand up.”

“but i-”

“stand up! now!”

she stands. i smile, bitterly. the tears don’t stop. i don’t stop them.

“congratulations,” i am practically kneeling to The Girl, “you are free again. enjoy the beach. enjoy bowling.”

she runs out of the room. i am alone.