“The doctor tells you, “Just relax.” For a moment, you wonder if she’s joking. The skin on the back of your legs sticks to the thin paper lining on the table, every slight movement announced by a loud crinkle. The fluorescent lights scrutinize you from the white grid ceiling. You can hear a doctor on the other side of the door talking loudly about the weather, how hot it’s been this summer. There’s a medical student in the room, shadowing. You’re afraid you’ll do something crazy, like faint and pass out. What if your body scares them away from medical school forever? You should have shaved beforehand. Did you wash well enough last night? Did you use soap? You bend your knees inwards towards one another, feet still in the silver stirrups.”
Read More“We spend so much time dreaming about leaving these spaces we inhabit; these sterile rooms and weary bodies. We wonder what it will be like when our lives can finally begin.”
Read More“I remember how my fear rose unbridled down the hill and over the bridge where the bullfrogs slept beneath, and past the muddy pond that swallowed paddles in daylight. It swelled up the other side to Josh’s house on the crest and crashed like a wave as he slammed the door and left us alone.”
Read More“I like to look at the dirt on the soles of my feet and think about where I’ve walked. I like to lie in bed alone and concentrate on the smell of my own sweat. Last night there was a full moon and I swear that I bled more than usual, so much more, in fact, that I wondered if it was my womanhood waking with the sky.”
Read More“We watched a woman tear off a rose petal and let it fall to the auditorium floor. ‘Every time you have sex, that piece of yourself can never be recovered. And if you continue to have sex,’ she attacked the rose. Petal pluck. Petal fall. Petal pluck. Petal fall. Torn petals. Floating petals. Blood red speckled floor. ‘You’ll end up like this.’”
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