Page 78 of Nearly Roadkill
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Cracks me up. Finding a needle in a haystack of needles.
END SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY
NARRATIVE ENTRY, JABBATHEHUT
“I don’t know what to make of this, Shel,” Budge says flatly.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdraws several neatly folded pages of text logs of his chat room adventures earlier that day.
“What’s with this ‘stupid bitch,’ and ‘bite me,’ and, well, worse; you’ll read it.”
She skims quickly, mouth pursing.
“I’m a regular guy,” he continues, confused. “I’m not some pervert or psycho.” He quietly concludes, “Every one of those people was downright mean. And for no reason, Shel. For no goddamn reason.”
“Every one of those men was downright mean,” she says, her voice slow and even. “And the reason is, you weren’t one of them. You were a woman.”
“I don’t get it,” he says finally. “You know me.”
“That’s the trouble; there’s not that many like you.” Her voice gently challenging, her fingers resting on the back of his hand. “But you still haven’t got a clue, have you?”
He grins despite his discomfort. “Aw, c’mon. ‘All men are creeps,’ is that what you’re gonna say? G’head, I can take it. I’m a big boy.”
She looks at him evenly for a moment.
“What do you suppose it would be like,” she says, “if every time you signed online—no, every time you walked out your front door, you could expect that kind of treatment? You’d never know where or when it would come from, but you’re always ready for it. Under the smile, under the come-on, even under the greatest words you’ve ever heard, someone’s waiting to hammer you if you don’t respond just how they want you to….”
She can see him strain to grasp it. He’s working hard.
“So you’re saying that Scratch and Winc… they’re women? That’s why they keep changing, running…”
“… playing,” she finishes his thought. “They’re playing.”
That smile of hers.
“They’re free. That’s what they are.”
“Huh?”
She continues, absently stroking the back of his hand.
“I don’t know if Scratch and Winc are women or not. No one does; maybe that’s why everyone’s talking about them. But they could be Black men, Latina women, that guy in the wheelchair outside our building, old people. The Asians at SUNY. Gays. Lesbians. Children. Anyone who can’t speak up because they’re afraid of being put in their place. Or worse.”
“Whatever they are, they’re showing us a place where there’s no fear.”
Their eyes meet. He’s dizzy; it’s because of her, and she knows it.
