you, Juliet. It never gets further away!
She stares at me with disbelief.
You know why you talk about equality all the time? I yell. You want everybody to be equal so you can never be called out for your mistakes! If everyone’s equal, it covers up any personal shortcomings. Like your endless dwelling on the past. Your endless excuses for putting things off. You’d probably say it’s all a result of gender oppression. But no! I think you love your pain. It’s your poetry.
Juliet looks back and forth from me to Sybil.
I can’t believe you’d say that in front of—
Christ, I say, finished. I’m sorry.
Daddy, Sybil pleads.
I’m sorry, I say.
In front of—
I’m sorry, but it’s getting gusty up here and I’m…Juliet. Juliet!
But she has already disappeared below. I hear our berth door slam.
Shit, I say. Shit.
I lean out over the stern, clutching the rails.
FUCKING COCKSUCKING GODDAMNED BULLSHIT.
I turn back to the helm.
Sorry, Bosun. I just had to get that out.
It’s OK, Daddy, she says, but she looks pale.
I take deep breaths. I check the tension in the sails. I check the chart plotter. But I’m shaking.
There’s no signal for the weather app, but everything seems fine.
Fair, fair, fair.
* * *
—
What can I do? he used to say. How can I help? How about you put your finger in the dam? How about you let me take one shower without turning off the spigot to hear the screaming of children? And if you are not capable of keeping the children from screaming, of saying no, of capping markers, of slicing strawberries the way they like them, or applying sunscreen or bug spray, or coming home on time, or understanding my feelings, or asking me about my work or my dreams or my disappointments, could you at the very least try to imagine what it means to be me?
The thing I realized then about men is, they are willing to become stupider in order to avoid feeling stupid. Sensing themselves outplayed in one realm, they develop new, unrecognizably stupid heights of stupidity—a metastupidity—which they wear like a banner, as if being stupid were a strategy, as if it were the plan from the get-go. Their stupidity, they claim, is a necessary tactic used to inure themselves to female intelligence. They have no choice but to become demonstrably, sublimely stupid.
Belowdecks, I threw my face into the pillow and sobbed.
I know, I know. What was I thinking? Not only am I an asshole, but also a shit captain w/ no crew.
But I honestly don’t know what happened to the Juliet I sat next to in that dark theater so many years ago. Whoever that girl was, I liked her. She was weird, you know, sloppy and loud, but she was also a fighter. Man, she was pissed off. I knew right off the bat that I would never fully understand her journey, but I loved her enough to go along on it, wherever it led.
I knew about the stuff that happened to her as a kid. I always tried to keep it in mind. But it was the life that came later, after graduate school, after Sybil—domestic life—that was like quicksand for Juliet. She couldn’t handle it. I mean, just basic life problems. The less she did, the less she seemed capable of. Atrophy, that’s what it felt like. Once I got a frantic call in the middle of a meeting. I stepped outside to take the call. Juliet smelled gas in the house.
Why are you calling me? I said. Call 911!
She’d have these bursts of clarity, of being her old self, & she’d come into focus again. Juliet’s always lived in her head. Way the hell in there.
It must be a hard place to find your way out of.
I’m here, I’d say