Strange Female Specimens
Published in
Oct 15, 2020
Her neon earrings glowed, cheery in the sun.
“I wore boring every day of my life for your father,” she announced when, surprised, I complimented the bright geometry. “Every day. He didn’t approve of loudness.”
The memory of his shush — a harsh, piercing hiss between his molars to quiet us — ghosts across my nape.
The way he would examine us, eyes hooded over his spectacles, strange female specimens occupying his house.
He never did like women who tried to take up space.
My skin prickles.
“I thought I would be lost when he was gone,” she muses. “Instead I’m found.”
