dissolve the cult

[Hitting pool balls but not hard enough to dissolve my rage] He should dissolve the cult, like Krishnamurti did. Of all people! They follow the sociopath. He is magical once in a while, I’ll admit, I didn’t stand steady under the spell. Enough current to really hurt me (more than I told you. I keep his secrets to my end.) He is the third man I have been afraid of, physically. There was a man in my youth, Chris the Weasel. And of course my father. His throwing of china and other like objects that made loud noises when hurled frightened me for the first few years and then my fear became momentary, induced by a look in his eyes, defended by my girl-child rage, winning sometimes by sheer volume.

[Enter unlit parking lot] I take my heart and find men to shatter it over. I saw them all, the one I fell so stupidly in love with even. It’s been a year exactly. Stupidly, I haven’t gotten over the humiliation of falling in love yet and I fell again when he lifted me up and said, “Ya looks lovely! How are tings?” I fell again, but not in love, and he held me there for a moment before I smiled and said, “Thank you, Kavanagh! (Things are perfect.)” He was sweaty, climbing into the truck with C, who used to flirt with me and just then pretended not to notice me at all. Let us divide the sheep and the goats. Some are loyal to their master. Some (two) give me hard hugs knowing that their sweat doesn’t bother me, knowing that I am someone.

[Enter den]I am that woman-predator. I stole in with a motive to climb the testosterone ladder, with an eye on him. I am not an apologetic person but I am angry with myself for existing at all (at all!). Erase me: none of this would have happened. Or better yet, replace me. (He will, thank god). She drives a shin into chest and bends to give K a hug. I contemplate beating her face to pulp. Instead I stroke her ankle softly, softly grinning. She retracts it and orders me to leave. I tell her to take care of her face. She says she knows how crazy I am. I stare at her grinning and say, “You do know, don’t you?” She sits knees-up hands down sticking her made-up face at me. I offer to step outside for a chat but she declines.

[Exiting den slowly because after all, it really isn’t my place] All the men pretended I did not exist. How quickly she spread the slander. How exhausting it must be to be her. How lonely to be to be his wife. Slander spread like butter, like fire: I am a whore. I am the antichrist. I exist just enough to be the object of his misplaced affection and her accumulated hatred. I am THAT woman.

[Sitting cold on the lamplit front porch with J] “...because conflict is the most calming, centering experience. Every small voice falls silent, every bouncy thought, every blemish in confidence, every pretense stops to listen. Fight. I am present in the present, only.”

“I thought you were just really angry.”

“I am.”