Women's Writes - Works

Tired.
All my life, tired.
Get up in the morning,
Make the coffee,
Run out the door.

It all started when I got married. Menelaus, that’s my husband. He was the king of Sparta. I was told I would be happy. I was told I would learn to love him…or at least to tolerate him and be able to stand it when he put his hands all over me. I was told all sorts of things. I was just a girl. I was too young to be getting married. I should have still been playing, making daisy chains, laughing with my girlfriends. But there I was, packed off to live with a man much older than me, a man I didn’t know, a man who didn’t really know how to love. I was a possession, a trophy. He paraded me through the streets of town to show everyone how beautiful I was, then locked me away to make sure no one could look at me.

Alameda sorted out the books, carefully arranging them in alphabetical order. Tomorrow she would need to take them back to the library. She needed more; she had read all of these. She fingered the title of each book, wanting to commit it to memory, wanting to never forget anything she read. Someday it might be useful. Someday she might need this knowledge. At nine, Alameda was already committed to a life of learning. She had selected three colleges that she was interested in attending, and was doing her best to keep her grades high enough to get accepted. It wasn’t easy, especially sharing her room with two sisters who tended toward noise, and the long list of chores each of them completed every night. It could be hard keeping up with her homework with a nine o’clock curfew, but somehow she always got it done.

I was born under Venus rising. I was told I had an abnormally long love line. Numerous Tarot readings predicted I would be lucky in love. And when I met…him…I knew. I was truly blessed by the goddess of love.

The rest of the day was like a strange reality show. It was both like and unlike courtroom shows on the television, and it wasn’t even much like the original hearing. Perhaps each judge had their own style, but Amber felt much more comfortable this time. The judge didn’t spend all his time glaring at her, but maintained a neutral manner from the beginning to the end. Her lawyer focused on her case, and was prepared for a major fight if need be. She had prepared pages upon pages of notes, and her brief was thorough and damning. She knew her stuff.

Amber realized this was the woman Brad had left her for, the model he had become enamored with, the one who made his wife seem quotidian, ordinary, down to earth. Amber had never pretended to be exotic, and watching Marguerite now, she was glad she had never adopted that style. The woman oozed insincerity, but Brad didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t take his eyes off her even as he asked Amber to run a couple of errands for him after the kids left.

Amber shifted from foot to foot, waiting for the door. She pressed the bell again, knowing it had a habit of failing to work at the most important times. She resisted the urge to peek in the window and see if anyone was home. He should be home…they had an appointment. Was he just playing cat-and-mouse with her?  She checked her watch against her phone; both showed the same time, and it was three minutes after time. She’d been standing here for five minutes. It was time to go.

Ogden started to crumple the card and throw it in the trash, but he caught sight of the name and straightened. He grabbed the tie he had thrown against the wall last night when he came home and buttoned his collar. He motioned to Lorelei and she brought him the suit jacket she hung on the coat rack last night after he flung it in the general direction and missed. When he arranged himself to his satisfaction, and smoothed his unruly hair, he growled at Lorelei to usher the men into the study. Lorelei rushed to comply, glad she would not be punished for intruding today.

The face was unfamiliar…but it was mine. Was it? Who was this man staring back at me? The mustache…the scar…the blue eyes with the puzzled look…that was me. I dug in my back pocket; I must have a wallet there. I came up empty. So, my face…but no name…nothing. I was lost, so lost I couldn’t even read the map of my own reflection.

NEIL goes back to the computer, frowns, and starts to type. We see the words “Get off the Internet, bitch”, but before he can hit enter, the screen goes black. NEIL checks the cord, wiggles it, turns the computer back on, but the screen stays black. He begins to hit the computer, first softly, then harder. Finally, he hits the computer screen, but instead of his fist bouncing off, it glides into the computer screen as though it were made of water. He pulls on his arm. It won’t come out of the computer.