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{what i did on my summer vacation} celeste la vie I got a black eye. It’s a really good one, swollen, weepy and painful to just look at. I know because of the look on your faces (mostly you women anyway), shock and horror followed by pity. I should leave him right? I should get a restraining order. I can even stay at your place? That’s very kind of you and thanks for all the concern, words of encouragement and even your therapist’s business card that you tried to slip me but go fuck yourself. You think that I’m making excuses for him. That I think that he didn’t really mean to hit me, it was an accident and he’ll never do it again? And he was sooooooooooo sorry. I bet you’re picturing the scene where he begs me for forgiveness, weeping maybe down on the floor, and I cave in and make him a nice dinner being careful to not let him see how I press my glass of ice water against it to sooth it because that would only agitate him again. Seriously, you can go fuck yourself with something sharp and that will require a tetanus shot. I’ve been saying that I got the shiner in an ultimate fighting match. Or, sometimes to be obtuse, I’ll say something about how between the Pirates and Ninjas there will never be peace. It seems that being sarcastic or bizarre makes it worse though. You just think that I’m being brave, or stupid. I can’t tell you the truth. Well, that’s not exactly true. I can, and did to the first couple of you that asked what the hell happened to me. And that’s how you react mostly, “What the hell happened?!” I can’t blame you; it is pretty shocking to look at. It’s just that something strange happens when I give the true account of this amazingly black and now strangely itchy eye. The words leave my mouth and in the air they magically turn into a plea, a cry for help, and the words of an abused and terrified woman. Happens every damn time. Why do you even ask? If you have such a clear idea of the terrible scene that must have unfolded - I bet you see me cowering in a corner, shaky hands up in defense and bawling – why even bother to involve me in the fantasy? I think that you women want to assume I’m a battered woman because you really want me to be weak. You men want to beat the women in your own lives. And everybody thinks I look awesome with a black eye and hope to see it on me more often. Why exactly would anyone want another person to be weak? Lots of reasons, we are a culture based on exploiting weakness but that’s another essay. A personal favorite is that it’s simply easier to feel superior to someone weaker. I know you want to feel superior; I can see it in the way you are so ready to judge and pity me. Anyway, here I am in front of you sporting the physical evidence of a lost battle. An asskickee is weaker than the asskicker and even if the asskickee could kick your ass - and I could - they are demonstrably weaker than someone. Cheer all ya want for the underdogs in football but you secretly align yourself with the asskicker. You want the strength. In seeing a black eye there is a nanosecond to choose sides and I’ll be damned if I don’t chose to be on the side of the aggressor myself. A character flaw? Perhaps, but one that you share. I see that look on your face, disdain. OK. Fine, I’m weak and you’re strong. The obvious importance here is that if I’m not, if I am a strong person and a smart person that knows how to avoid abusive assholes, then you’ll have to accept that shitty shit can happen to anyone. Even you. It’s actually very important to you that I have bad judgment because that makes me responsible for getting myself into this situation. Because this sure as hell couldn’t happen to you could it? Didn’t think so. It’s less painful now and the swelling has gone down so that I can forget that I have this black eye but it looks even more disgusting than when it was fresh. The purple black bruise is actually getting darker and larger and the whole thing has developed a nauseating green halo. A funny thing happens when I talk to you men. A precious few of you have asked in seriousness if I got it playing softball. I guess it is the season for such things and even though I don’t look sporty by any stretch of the imagination, I like you for asking this. Almost. I feel like you were looking for something fun for us to chat about. Yeah, I think you were actually, if accidentally, using the black eye to make conversation to try to pick me up. If you are sincere I might think that this is pretty cute and not give you a snotty answer. If it just didn’t occur to you that someone could beat me you are much closer to understanding my real personality than anyone else thus far.* However, you may be chatting me up and making the athletic inferences about the black eye just so that I can formally make my excuses. The truth is that you are attracted to me because I look hittable. I know that more than one of you has scoped me as a possible new girlfriend because the last one finally got the restraining order or moved to Spain. Is it possible to tell the difference between these two men? I guess I’d like to think so and with the exception of one emotionally bizarre boyfiend back in the 90s I have been able to choose some gentle and loving mates. But the idea that a man could honestly be excited by the black eye is enough to make me queasy. They exist. For all the crap I have to endure my black eye may actually be harder on my boyfriend. I learned that it’s not ok to joke around in the grocery store saying something like, “No, no baby I’ll won’t overcook the steaks again! Just give me one more chance!” The law will simply and quickly assume that I am a battered woman and those fucking fucks would ruin his life. I would not be able to stop them. Yeah, yeah the rationale is that the cowed and powerless women being cowed and powerless will continue to be tortured by the very people that are supposed to protect them until somebody rescues them. Fuck that. I’ll concede that no woman chooses to be abused – the first time. It might sound cynical but it is much more empowering (not to mention realistic) to believe that you are your own, only savior.** But, to get back to the point, he has to tolerate the same assumptions and prejudices that I have but he’s in a much worse position. I get pity he gets hate. I don’t think I’ll bother to tell you the real story of this black eye. I do have a favorite line that I can only use when a close friend asks about it. I get to say, “I just don’t fuckin listen!” This is apparently hysterical and at least one person almost peed with laughter. I’m ready to look normal again. I do look totally tough but it doesn’t really jive with my overall esthetic which is much more Laura Ashley: Goddess of Death*** than Robin Givens: Sunglasses that Cover your Torso.**** * If I did manage to get my ass kicked by a lover I wouldn’t be out in public, I’d have too much retribution to plan. Vengeance is pretty time consuming and you don’t want to be strutting around with any kind of perceivable motive anyway. ** You might wonder what should be done for those women “trapped” in abusive relationships? I’d arm them. Raise the ante until you don’t have a situation that anybody can meddle in anymore. *** Skulls and floral prints, slinky and lacy. Pretty! **** Bristol Palin in 2.5 years. |
