by Allison Moon
“Say ‘no’.”
“What?”
“Say ‘no’!” Renee laughed with frustration.
“But I--”
“‘No’ is a complete sentence. Say it,” Renee demanded.
“No, it’s not that . . .”
“Just the word!”
“No,” Lexie said.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For using your voice,” Renee said.
“Oh.”
“See?”
“I guess.”
Lexie reached for the wineglass and took a long sip, trying to puzzle out what the hell had just happened. Saying “no” wasn’t a problem for her; it was “yes” she could use some practice with. She wished Renee would give her a chance to try that word on for size.
“Good thing you didn’t want to kiss me,” Renee said with a wink.
“Good thing,” Lexie replied.
Renee smiled. “I guess you didn’t have to fight much for your right to speak growing up, huh?”
“My house was pretty quiet,” Lexie admitted. “My dad slept a lot. I tried not to be loud.”
“Well, I can’t say that doesn’t sound kind of nice sometimes. Living with eight women can be intense,” Renee chuckled.
“Like, your periods are in sync? I read that that happens sometimes.”
“You have no idea.”
“Intensity is something I could use in my life. Living with people like this would be a welcome change.”
“Do you do your own dishes?” Renee asked.
“Yep. And my dad’s,” Lexie said.
“Then you’re way ahead of half the women here.”
Hazel chimed in from the other side of the room. “Why doesn’t your dad do his own dishes?” she asked.
Renee lobbed back, “Why don’t you, Hazel?”
Hazel flipped her black ponytail over her shoulder. “I prefer to spend my time fighting the patriarchy,” she said, evoking a round of laughter from the girls.
“Change begins at home,” Jenna said.
“Yeah. Think globally, clean locally,” Renee quipped.
Hazel stuck out her tongue and nuzzled herself back into Corwin’s chest for more affectionate rubs.
In the corner, Blythe and Mitch whispered and giggled in their own little bubble, taking advantage of the false privacy bestowed by the even pounding of the rain. They kissed and nibbled on each other’s fingers, enjoying the gentle dalliances of their romance. Lexie stared, as though by watching them, she could absorb all there was to know about feminine intimacy. Perhaps by studying them, her own desires would reveal themselves as easily as the clouds releasing rain. What would it mean to know her needs and desires as clearly as these women seemed to know each other? Her fantasies, sexual and otherwise, had only ever been nebulous, shifting shapes of aspiration and lust, as difficult to decipher as the dream-gibberish that filled her nights.
Lexie sifted through her memories, tracking clues from her childhood. Certainly she’d admired a woman or two before, like Wes. Once, while waiting for the school bus during a field trip, she gave her sixth-grade math teacher, Ms. Jones, a shoulder rub. Though the preteen Lexie had enjoyed it, she ultimately dismissed it as some sort of mother complex. Then there was the soap opera that her dad spent hours watching when he was first injured. A spectacularly proportioned actress played Doctor Delaney, and at the time, Lexie thought she wanted to be a doctor, so that could be dismissed as idol worship. Certainly not lesbianism.
A flash of other memories passed through her mind: She had insisted on dressing up as Calamity Jane for three consecutive Halloweens. In high school there was Peter; he looked like a girl, so maybe she just liked girly boys. That was possible. Peter had been Lexie’s only boyfriend and clearly gay and maybe even a little bit more. He changed his name junior year to the more gender-ambiguous Robin, just before his family moved to Chicago, but that didn’t mean much in the great scheme of her sexual life. She also never got anywhere near his penis, but that seemed like a consensus-driven decision. Since him, there’d been little in the way of partnered sexual exploration. The distinction between a straight girl who just hated the trappings of heterosexual femininity--the dresses, the fairy tales, the endless pursuit of narrow-minded beauty--and a queer girl was so subtle that Lexie couldn’t distinguish between the two.
She lost herself in the stream of her thoughts. If left to her own devices she would analyze herself unconscious. She forced herself back to reality, taking the wineglass from Renee. She sipped the wine, studying a cluster of freckles on high on Renee’s right cheek.
“You seem . . .” Lexie ventured aloud while Renee stretched her calves. “I don’t know. More laid back than the other girls. Not as . . .” She knew the word she was searching for, but something about the term “militant” made her think she should keep her mouth shut. Her ears warmed with the fear of misspeaking. The corner of Renee’s mouth curved to a smirk, and she shifted back onto her elbows, her bare legs stretched out in front of her.
“We are opinionated ladies. That’s an observation, not a critique,” Renee said. She reached out her empty hand, beckoning for the glass. “And if you meant it as a critique, girl, you are in the wrong place.” She smiled again and took a healthy sip, then passed the glass back to Lexie.
“It seems like everyone spends a lot of time talking about the way men suck,” Lexie said, losing grip on her inhibitions because of the wine, or the day, or the way Renee made her feel. Or, perhaps all three.
Renee raised her eyebrows. “A lot of us have issues with men, it’s true. A lot of women have issues with men, because a lot of men are fuckwads. Some women turn their issues into opinions and their opinions into manifestos. Some women, like myself, for instance--like the Pack--turn their manifestos into action. We all have different ways of getting to the same place. As long as we arrive to do the work that needs to be done, who cares how you got there?”
“That seems rather . . .” Lexie struggled to find the right word.
“Essentialist?” Renee offered.
The actual word Lexie was going for was “reductive,” but she let Renee continue.
“I think things are the way they are until they’re not. It’s the job of the activist to be a catalyst, to supplement the natural process of change and speed it up for the good of everyone.”
“Everyone except the original compound,” Lexie said, feeling smart for catching the biology reference.
“Compound fracture, compound interest, compound prisons, let ‘em all go to hell,” Renee retorted.
“But it seems like there’s such a chasm between these girls’ experiences and my own,” Lexie admitted. “I feel like I’m a different species, and I grew up here! I love my Dad. I have no problems with men.”
“Just because you haven’t had negative experiences with men yourself doesn’t mean that those experiences aren’t real for other women. Solidarity begs you to treat those issues as your own, because what is it but luck and a little bit of social progress that has kept you safe all these years?”
It sounded like a rhetorical question, but Renee opened up a space for Lexie to respond. The question confounded her. Lexie rooted through her memories, trying to find the hidden moments in her life when it really was nothing more than luck that had kept her safe.
“I don’t like looking at the world as if I’m constantly in danger,” she said. “Whether it’s true or not.”
Renee softened her approach. “All I’m saying is, you don’t need to have been raped or beaten to want to work for a world in which things like rape and violence don’t exist. Or genital mutilation, or ‘honor killings’, or the myriad other ways our world hurts and oppresses women. We all suffer from injustice. The point is to fight even when it’s not your head on the block.”
“I just don’t think that men are the problem.”
“Not all men are the problem. There are many amazing men in this world, doing great work, fighting for ju
stice. But I won’t rely on them to make my world the way it needs to be. That’s my job.” Renee swirled a reedy index finger toward her chest.
“Besides, what we’re about--” she said, sighing. “Well, what I’m about isn’t destroying the patriarchy. It’s the kyriarchy I’m after.”
“The what?” Lexie asked.
“Kyriarchy. Patriarchy implies a gendered power structure ordered and arranged by men. But not all injustice is perpetrated by men or the work of men. ‘Kyriarchy’ encompasses inequitable power structures across genders, races, sects, contexts and so on.”
Lexie sighed, rubbing her forehead at the onset of a headache. “You’re smart,” she said with more than a little disappointment.
Renee snorted. “Yep. Does that bother you?”
Lexie blinked back unexpected tears.
“Whoa, girl. It’s okay. You PMSing or something?” Renee said, stroking Lexie’s shoulder.
“No. Well, yeah, but no,” Lexie said. “I just . . . This is all a lot for me to digest. I just feel . . .” Ashamed, embarrassed, stupid. “. . . stupid.”
Renee grasped Lexie’s chin and pulled her face close. Lexie cast her eyes downward, but Renee shook her chin, forcing Lexie’s eyes to meet her own.
“You are not stupid.” Renee said.
Lexie tried to shake her head in protest, but Renee held fast. “You need to work on your self-esteem, mama. You understood everything I just said. You’ve held your own when confronted by a hell of a lot of scary-ass women with some radical-ass thoughts. You are getting an education and a chance to get the hell out of your Podunk town. You are working your tail off to better your situation when many women never get that chance. You’re not afraid to ask questions and have your assumptions challenged.” Her eyes blazed fierce, dark, and deep.
“Don’t you dare call yourself stupid. You are goddamned brilliant.”
Lexie caught the fire in Renee’s eyes and found that she believed her. In the company of these women, Lexie felt stronger and smarter than she ever had. They made her want to pursue her own greatness, whatever that might be.
“Lexie,” Jenna asked from across the table. “Blythe says you’re from around here.”
Renee dropped her hand, and Lexie wiped her eyes and nodded. “Wolf Creek. It’s like fifty miles east.”
“Neat,” Sharmalee said, twirling the ends of her hair. “Do you miss your trailer?”
“Sharm!” Hazel bolted to sitting and slapped Sharmalee on the arm.
“Ow! What?”
“That’s fucked up,” Mitch chuckled from Blythe’s lap.
“That’s hella rude,” Corwin said.
“No it’s not! There are a lot of trailers around here! I’ve never seen so many before!”
“You’re from India!” Hazel shouted.
“They don’t have trailers in India! And it’s not like I’m from Dharavi.”
“I grew up in a house,” Lexie said.
“See?” Hazel said, declaring herself the moral superior.
“Oh. Cool. I didn’t mean--” Sharmalee said.
Lexie smiled and waved away her apology.
“Oh!” Sharmalee straightened, as if struck with a great epiphany. “We should get Lexie to help us with the werewolves!”
“Hey, shut it!” Renee said.
“Renee . . .” Corwin scolded.
“Don’t silence me,” Renee shot back.
“You were silencing Sharm!” Hazel shouted.
“Sharm was speaking out of turn.”
“There are no turns here,” Jenna said.
“Christ, I’m trying to protect us.”
“Lexie’s one of us,” Jenna said. “Or at least she could be.”
Blythe remained silent as the girls’ exchange played out. Renee laid back in a huff, downing the final sip of wine.
After a long and disconcerting silence, Lexie asked, “Werewolves?”
Hazel leapt up. “Let’s play a game!” Blythe rolled her eyes and Mitch groaned, burying his face in Blythe’s arm. Lexie tensed.
“What do you think, Blythe?” Corwin said. “Lexie can know, right?”
Renee bit her lip.
“Let’s just enjoy ourselves tonight,” Blythe said. “We’re having such a nice time. Let’s not bring all that darkness in right now.”
“But tomorrow--” Sharmalee said.
“Later,” Blythe interrupted. She smiled at Lexie. “But I’d also like Lexie to be around more.”
“How about Truth or Dare?!” Hazel said.
Lexie’s neck grew hot and her vision narrowed as she said a silent prayer to any deity that might have been listening. Thor or Zeus, perhaps, since the lightning was cracking on unabated.
“That’s dumb, Hazel,” Renee replied. Lexie relaxed. “The whole point of Truth or Dare is to mack on the people at the party. I’ve already slept with all of you. Where’s the excitement in that?”
“What about the newbie?” Hazel pressed.
“This newbie,” Renee replied, nodding her head toward Lexie, “doesn’t need a game to get what she wants.”
Lexie froze. Renee cast her a flirtatious smile.
“Oh yeah?” Hazel teased.
Renee rolled her eyes, then looked directly at Lexie. She spoke in a voice just loud enough for Hazel’s benefit. “Lexie?” Renee smiled at the implied dare. “May I kiss you?”
Lexie didn’t know the right answer. She had just been scolded for being unwilling to say no, but now the rules of the game had changed. Renee smiled, politely waiting for her answer. Lexie whispered, “Sure,” lowering her gaze to avoid those darkly probing eyes.
Renee captured Lexie’s chin again and pulled their faces together. Her lips brushed against Lexie’s, sending tiny, tingling bolts up and down Lexie’s back. The skin behind her ears tickled as warmth spread from her lips to her cheeks, then to her neck and the tips of her ears, until finally it washed across her chest, warming her completely.
Hazel harrumphed. “Screw you guys, then. I’m dancing.” She leapt to her feet, dancing before the music even started.
“Turn it up, Corwin!”
“I’ve only got fifteen percent battery left.”
“So?! What else are you going to use it for, checking the weather?”
Corwin rolled her eyes and raised the volume.
Hazel cheered and ran in place as the electroclash banged out of Corwin’s tinny laptop speakers. She burst into a flurry of drunken movement, waving her hands above her head like a go-go dancer. Sharmalee giggled and jumped up to join her.
Renee leaned in to Lexie. “That was nice,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lexie said, unsure of what else to say.
“Good,” Renee said, setting the glass on the table with an empty clink. “In that case, may I kiss you again?”
Lexie’s mouth was already half open; she licked her lower lip. Renee grinned and leaned in again, pressing Lexie back onto the carpet. On the ground Lexie was cozy, warm, and slightly drunk. Renee’s soft, black hair filtered the candlelight in strange ways, the flickering light peeking through her tiny curls like sunlight through tree leaves. Renee traced her mouth down Lexie’s neck, her hands feather-touching the bare skin above the collar of Lexie’s shirt.
Lexie grasped Renee’s hips. Though Lexie was shorter than Renee, she felt solid, sturdy, compared to her. Renee was built like an egret, with delicate bones and long, thin limbs. There was a word for Renee’s body, but Lexie couldn’t come up with it. As Renee stroked her body and kissed her neck, Lexie struggled for the word. It started with an “S” or maybe a “C.” Lexie’s mind derailed in an endless loop of language. She lost herself in the search for the right word, forgetting Renee’s touch and the effects of the wine and the setting. Mulling the word that clung to the tip of her tongue, begging to be identified, she placed in the folder in her head that held all of the things she was learning about Renee.
Renee pulled back, the corona of light fl
aring behind her hair, wrenching Lexie from her reverie.
“You okay?” Renee asked, looking at her askance.
Lexie rose to her elbows. “Yeah,” she said.
“Your head’s somewhere else.”
“Oh,” Lexie paused, waiting for a clearer cue on how to proceed. Renee didn’t seem inclined to offer her any.
“I’m sorry,” Lexie said. “I’m just feeling . . . a lot.” It wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t cover the whole truth of the situation, either. The problem was, Lexie didn’t know the truth of the situation. She just knew that everything was beginning to teeter out of balance. She felt like she was diving too quickly into an irrevocable choice of alliance to an alien culture. Yet she felt as though she could belong here, that she could find among these women a place for herself.
“See?!” Renee pointed. “There you go again.”
Lexie snapped back to Renee’s face. “Oh,” Lexie said. “You’re right. I’m kind of out of it.” She fumbled for an excuse. “I’m just . . . a freshman.”
Wow, that was lame. Lexie cringed.
“Wow. That’s lame,” Renee laughed.
“Yeah.” Lexie smiled another apology. “But it feels kind of true right now, weird as it sounds.”
“Listen,” Renee whispered, her lips grazing Lexie’s ear. “You want to go upstairs? More privacy?”
Lexie shook her head again, biting her lip. She hated to disappoint this brash and beautiful girl, but she knew that no was the only answer. Renee stroked the long, fine hairs framing the left side of Lexie’s face, pushing a lock behind her ear.Lexie shook her head and gave a small smile. “No.”
Renee held her hand to Lexie’s cheek. “I’m glad you spoke up,” she said with a wink. “You should try that more often.” It was a sisterly gibe, but it unsettled Lexie, anyway.
“It’s all good,” Renee said, sighing long and deep. She leaned in and kissed Lexie gently. “Do you want to dance?” she asked.
“Not really. Should I?” Across the coffee table, Lexie caught a glance from Blythe. Blythe looked away before Lexie could read her, returning her attention to Mitch.
“Nah, Hazel’s life is Flashdance. She’ll be at this all night.” Renee stroked Lexie’s face. “It’s late. I’ll grab us some blankets for now and walk you home once the storm breaks.”