But The Slutnicks seemed like they were actually happy people and it was really weird to see that. My parents always pretend to be happy when they’re with strangers but it’s so clear that they’re pretending. But The Slutnicks seemed happy with their lives and with each other. And I guess I never realized that was possible.12
And they asked me about myself, if I liked school, which I said no to, and then told me that “the first year is always the hardest and don’t worry too much about enjoying it.” It was strange advice to give, but it made me feel more relaxed about school.13
Miss Rita, it was such a nice dinner, I felt like I was a real Slutnick. We got dessert14 and coffee and The Slutnicks paid for dinner and then thanked us for coming with them: “It was so great of you girls to come out with us tonight. What a treat.”
On the way home, Miss Rita, I’m not kidding, I talked the whole way! I couldn’t believe it. I usually never talk around other people because I’m so freaked out that I’ll say something stupid or something I don’t know about and then they’ll ask me about it and I won’t know what to say. But I just couldn’t help myself, I told the SNs everything about me, even stuff I never thought about before, like what I want to do for a profession.15 I even told them about you, Miss Rita.16
And then they dropped us off at the dorm and gave us both a hug and then the dad said to me, “I’m glad you’re taking care of my daughter.” I couldn’t believe it. I was taking care of her. I don’t even know if they were being serious, but it made me feel so good. I’ve never taken care of anyone and suddenly I was taking care of Slutnick! It made me feel like an adult. Like I was important. And needed.
Slutnick and I went back up to our room and I was still smiling so so wide. I wanted to take a shower to wash the Olive Garden smell out of my hair17 but I thought it would be nice to ask Slutnick if she wanted to shower first. So I did. And she said, “Sure, thanks for asking, Harp!”18
Slutnick took her towel and soap and toothbrush and left the room to shower and I walked around the dorm room, alone.
I looked at all of our shared possessions. Our coffeemaker. Our microwave. Our minifridge with the permanent coffee stain running down the middle. Our toaster. Our crusty garbage can. Our dollar store plates and aluminum forks. Our whiteboard with the scrawled neon green note, “Coffeemaker’s busted.”
Then I looked at Slutnick’s possessions. Her hair straightener. Her eyelash curler. Her half-eaten jar of Nutella. Her ticket stubs from every concert she’s ever been to. Her cork-board with pictures of fugly friends from home.
And then I looked at my possessions. My anthro books for school. My laptop with a sticker of a bloody apple covering the regular apple logo. My faded security blanket from home. My XXL shirt from Floor Wars. My bulk foods from Costco.
And I thought that maybe I would like it if Slutnick used my stuff more. Like maybe I would be happier sharing stuff with her than just keeping it to myself. Like maybe it would make me happier to know she was eating my ramen than if I were actually eating it myself.19
And then I started thinking about my own parents. And I really tried to think about them in a neutral way. You know? Like I tried to think about them as though I wasn’t their daughter for a minute. Just think about them as though I was a person looking at the situation. And I got really mad at them.
They knew how lonely I was up here and they never did anything to make me feel better or needed. When I asked them if they were going to visit me during the semester, my mother said that they thought I needed to “cultivate my own experiences for the first few months.”20 And after one night with The Slutnicks, I already felt more loved and part of a family than I did in eighteen years with my own parents.
Slutnick came back in with a towel wrapped around her head like a Muslim man.21 And her whole body was red and blotchy from the hot water. And I immediately felt a little embarrassed because she looked kind of fat and I thought it was embarrassing that I had a fat roommate and I was worried people would think I was fat, just by association. And then I tried to remember that thinking that way was mean and also probably not exactly right.
Then Slutnick said, “Should we finish watching the snake video?”
And I snapped out of my thinking about her being fat and got so excited. I had totally forgotten about the video.
Slutnick opened her computer, which was paused two-thirds into the video, and pressed play:
It was so gross, Miss Rita. The snake ate the entire crocodile and then slithered around with it inside of him.22 And I wanted to hate the snake for eating the crocodile, but then I thought, “Maybe it’s none of my business.”
And I looked at Slutnick and she was grossed out too. And I laughed to myself because I pictured us from the snake’s point of view: two girls, making the same grossed-out face, staring at me as I slithered around with a crocodile inside of my body.
And I realized that, to the snake, Slutnick and I were probably not that different.
And then I thought that the snake probably thought we were related to each other. And maybe he’s right, maybe Slutnick and I are related.
And maybe that’s what life is about—finding families in different places. Like maybe, this year, Slutnick and I are a family. And maybe next year, I’ll have a different roommate and she’ll be my family.
And in a way, this thought made me feel really alone and also really not alone at the same time.
Because it meant that everyone could be my family but no one was permanent.
Well, except for you, Miss Rita.
Thanks!
Love,
Harp23
1. You know?
2. Which is actually coming pretty soon, if you think about it. You probably didn’t think you would be old when you were my age, right?
3. Actually, Slutnick never has class (get it? Cause she’s a slut).
4. I should also mention here that SN’s been pretty tolerable recently. We’re actually getting along and she’s not being such a massive douchebag.
5. Okay, I know this seems like not a big deal, but she said friend not roommate, which actually made me feel SO good, Miss Rita, because a “friend” is someone you choose to know and a “roommate” is someone you’re forced to know.
6. As though they asked her if she would like a winning lottery ticket. Although, I guess, to The Slutnick, food is like winning the lottery.
7. Okay, so my parents live much farther away from school, but they would never think to surprise me even if school was right around the corner. My parents never did anything fun or spontaneous or interesting without making a big show of how great they were for doing it, you know?
8. The closest thing Slutnick would ever get to a date.
9. Sure, blame the table for eating all the food.
10. And I was thinking that the combination of The Slutnicks and unlimited breadsticks would put the Olive Garden out of business.
11. In the lobby of the Olive Garden, there was a sign that said, WHEN YOU’RE HERE, YOU’RE FAMILY. And I thought, since I’m here, I’m part of their family. And that made me feel good even though I didn’t want to be part of their family because it would mean I would probably have to get fatter and uglier.
12. But even though they were nice, it was a little disgusting watching them eat. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a farm, Miss Rita, where you can watch pigs eat from a trough and then roll around in their own shit, but that’s what it looked like watching The Slutnicks go at their spaghetti Bolognese.
13. When I told my mother that I hated school, she said, “For what we’re paying to send you there, you better start liking it.” And I was like, “Fuck off, Mom.”
14. Tiramisu and cannolis for the table.
15. To which I said, “Fashion,” cause I never thought about it before and I got nervous and I thought that sounded good.
16. But I just said I have a “mentor” from high school. And they said, “She sounds really supportive.” Not bad, huh?
>
17. Fettuccini Alfredo mixed with budget marinara.
18. She actually called me Harp. I never had a nickname before, and if you’d asked me a week ago if I wanted one, I would have thought it was so stupid, but I actually liked Harp.
19. I know that sounds weird or like illogical, like, “How would someone else eating ramen make me happy?” But I actually did feel like it would make me happy to know that Slutnick was happy. Strange.
20. Which meant no.
21. Is that racist? I’m not sure. She really did look like that.
22. It was so weird, you could see the outline of the crocodile inside the snake’s body!
23. Only you and SN have permission to call me that. ;)
November 7
Dear Miss Rita,
I wasn’t going to write to you because I thought I’d leave you alone, but something absolutely horrifying happened to me and I don’t know whether I should go to the police or buy a gun or what. So far, I haven’t told anyone about it,1 but keeping it inside is no longer a possibility.
I think I may have been sexually assaulted by a teacher.2
I’ll start at the beginning so you know how this developed.
I’m taking an Intro to Anthro class, which is basically about different cultures around the world and why they’re weird.3 My professor is a young guy who so desperately wants to be like the “cool” professor. He dresses in “cool” flannel shirts and “cool” jeans and has long hair down to his shoulders. I guess he’s maybe a tiny bit attractive but it’s so fucking annoying how all the girls in class basically orgasm when he calls on them.4
His name is Mr. Garrett, but let’s call him Mr. Doe for the purposes of this letter, in case there’s a court case or a lawsuit or whatever.
The last three classes were about something called Female Genital Mutilation, which is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard about in my life.5 It is where these evil African men cut the vaginas off poor African women. The men do it for the most disgusting, selfish reasons: because it feels better for their huge dumb penises when they stick them in the poor women’s tiny, mutilated vagina holes.
Men are so fucking terrifying, Miss Rita. Everything about them is so disgusting and scary! And after my “encounter” with Mr. Doe, I just want to cut off every man’s dumb stupid penis and stick it in his dumb eye socket!6
And what’s so fucked up about this whole thing is that Mr. Doe actually made us write a paper about why Female Genital Mutilation is a good thing.7 We were supposed to “incorporate” what we’ve learned about other cultures and their specific customs to explain why cutting a woman’s vagina is a good thing. I could not even believe it.
When he asked if we had any questions, I raised my hand and Sarah Steinwhore raised her hand. I was going to ask how we could possibly write a paper supporting that evil bullshit, but Mr. Doe called on Steinwhore instead of me. And the fucking kiss-ass asked, “Is there a length to the paper or can we write as much as we want?”8
And Mr. Doe said, “Sure, Sarah, you can go as long as you feel you need to make your point.”
So I went back to my dorm to start working on this paper, which I didn’t think I should write in the first place.
And Slutnick was in the room, reading Beowulf. And she and I are getting along really well now because she’s being less of a bitch and I’m being more “open-minded.”9
So I told SN that I have to write this paper about why cutting off an African woman’s vagina is a good thing and she was horrified. And she said she was just reading about Beowulf killing Grendel’s mother after she tried to revenge her son’s death. Beowulf killed the mother of his enemy! Which is so unbelievably typical. And I realized that all men throughout history—Beowulf, African guys, Mr. Doe—all men are fucking evil pricks.
And I felt really conflicted. Because I had to write this paper for class, but I also knew that it was the wrong thing to do. So I did a little “soul search,” which you taught me about in junior year.
And that’s when I realized I could not write this paper.
So I sat down at my computer and started writing what I thought I should write instead. It was this:10
Throughout the various countries of Africa, a widespread problem is occurring. It is called Female Genital Mutilation. Female genital mutilation (FGM), also known as female genital cutting and female circumcision, is defined by the World Health Organization (WHO) as “all procedures that involve partial or total removal of the external female genitalia or other injury to the female genital organs for non-medical reasons” (Wikipedia).
I was asked by my Intro to Anthro teacher, Mr. Garrett, to write a paper on why this is a good thing.
But I can’t.
Because it’s not.
A good thing.
FGM is a disgusting practice that men do to women because they want their vaginas to be smaller because it feels better on their penises when they have sex. If anyone thinks this is a good thing, they are disgustingly wrong.
Men have controlled everything in the world for centuries now, be it banking, sports, or the automobile industry. And it’s time for that to change. They think because they have penises or are taller than women, they can control them.
FGM has to stop right now and the men who do it should have to have their penises cut to see how much they like it. If I could, I would fly to Africa to cut off all the men’s penises.11 And I would put all the African penises in a huge blender and make all the men watch as their penises blended together in a bloody penis shake. And then I would make them drink the penis shake until they puked, then I’d probably have them eat the penis shake puke.12
But since I can’t go to Africa because of the diseases, I will instead start here in St. Louis, cutting off the penises of all the men who abuse their wives. And all the rapists and bartenders who bother women all the time. I’ll cut their penises off too.
And, actually, while I’m at it, Mr. Garrett? I’ll cut your penis off too. I see how you look at some of the girls in class. You’re using your power of authority to flirt, I see that. And the fact that you’re asking us to write this paper is proof that you support the evil African Empire men who want to cut off women’s vaginas for their own evil pleasure.
Well, guess what, men? And guess what, Mr. Garrett? Your time is up!
That was my paper. I read it to Slutnick and she thought it was amazing. She literally was like, “Harper, that’s the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard.”
So, the next morning, I put the paper in Mr. Doe’s mailbox.
We didn’t have anthro class till Tuesday, so I had the whole weekend and Monday to think about what Mr. Doe would think when he read it. And the more I thought about it, the more excited I got. I felt more and more confident that what I wrote was not only really smart, but actually a good thing for the world.13
On Tuesday, I went to class as usual but I had a nervous excitement in my belly, like when you’re waiting to see who’s going to get kicked off American Idol. And Mr. Doe came in like nothing was wrong. I was wondering if he’d even read the papers. Luckily Steinwhore raised her hand and asked, “Will we be getting our papers back today?”14
And Mr. Doe said, “Yes, I’ve read and graded them all and will return them at the end of class. By the way, very good job all of you.”
I was so confused. How could he have read and graded them and not said anything about mine?
Anyway, he didn’t even talk about Female Genital Mutilation once during class. Instead, he started a new lesson about Nanook of the North, some dumb movie about an Eskimo who lied about getting in a boat.
And when class was ending, Mr. Doe said, “Before I forget, I have your papers. Some really interesting work this week, you guys.”
Then he silently handed out the papers, and when he got to me, he just casually put it on my desk as though I hadn’t written an essay about cutting off his penis. I looked at the first page, there were no comments. And I flipped to the back, where th
ere was a small note that said, “See me after class. — Mr. G.”
I didn’t know what to expect. I thought he might be a little mad about the Penis Shake line, but otherwise, I thought I wrote a really thoughtful essay.
After everyone left the room, I stayed at my desk.
Mr. Doe came up and sat in the desk next to mine. My heart was beating so quick. I didn’t know if he was going to congratulate me or yell at me or what.
He started, “So, I read your paper, Harper.”
I didn’t say anything. He kept talking:
“I understand that you feel very strongly about this issue. It’s clear that it raised a lot of feelings for you, which is a good thing. And I’m glad you expressed them. I thought some of your language was a little strong,15 but I was happy to see how passionate you were about the subject.”
“So do I get an A?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to give you an incomplete.”
“Why?”
Then he said, “Because you didn’t do the assignment, Harper.” Then he started saying some bullshit about how, even though I don’t support FGM, I was asked to “use anthropological arguments to make a theoretical case for it.”
But I started to get really pissed off. Because I knew what this was about. This was about him not liking me. It’s why he didn’t call on me in class. It’s why he never made eye contact with me. It’s why he fucking gushed over Steinwhore and some of the other bitchy shit-nosers in class.
I didn’t want him to get away with giving me an incomplete just because he didn’t like me. So I asked him, “Why don’t you ever call on me in class?”
And he said, “You’re right to think that I call on you less frequently than some of the other students. But that’s because you often don’t contribute positively to conversations, Harper.16 You like to yell about your opinion instead of contributing to a thoughtful dialogue.”
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