The Tree of Knowledge

We have two funerals today. Back-to-back double feature.

The first is for Mara.

Ryan stands by her grave and delivers a eulogy I don’t listen to. I watch him instead of listening. His expression, he could be reading a grocery list. Dull. Uninterested. I fantasize about pushing him into the open grave and then immediately pray for forgiveness.

I cry. I don’t think I’m really upset that she’s gone. I’m upset that there is no reason for her to be gone. I cry for the senselessness of it all.

Rebecca tries to put her arm around me and I push her away.

The second funeral is for baby Isaac.

We burry him next to Mara’s grave in his own little casket. Ryan bought him a polished mahogany casket lined with light blue satin for two hundred and fifty freaking dollars. That’s two hundred and fifty bucks for a glorified shoe box.

The casket, it reminds me of doll house furniture. Like a little pretend version of the full sized thing, made for a little pretend person.

For this little pretend funeral.

And this is the one that Ryan actually cries during.

He holds that little pretend casket and tells the person he never knew that he will be missed. He tells Isaac, “You don’t know how bad I wanted you.”

All our neighbors I don’t know are here, and Ryan’s coworkers that I’ve never met. They all tell me how very sorry they are.

After the funerals it’s back to the house for the wake.

Ryan and Rebecca walk towards the house ahead of me, and I trail behind them. All those black-clad people streaming into our house bearing assorted casseroles and insincere condolences and promises that the woman they didn’t know and the child she died for who never really existed will be sorely missed.

I cannot do this.

I slip around the corner of the house, hop on my bike, and go. Sobbing, I pedal away from the house as fast as I can, hoping no one will notice I’m gone.

I just can’t do it.

I can’t even see where I’m going through the tears. I crash into a fire hydrant and go sprawling into the street, banging my head on the gritty pavement and scarping my elbow. A car stops short just in front of me. The driver starts to get out, probably to check if I’m okay.

I am not okay.

I am so fucking far from okay.

I jump back on my bike as quick as I can and I’m off again; dress torn, arm bleeding, dirt smeared on my face, the driver calling after me.

It’s a good thing I don’t give a rat’s ass what I look like.

Mara’s life, my life, all the women and girls all over the world, I thought we mattered. We don’t. We’re nothing. We’re property. We’re toys. Vessels for reproduction. Seed receptacles.

According to God, my life doesn’t matter.

Me, Mara, Rebecca, Little Bird, we’re worth less than a dead baby.

I burst into the door of Stone Works. I don’t get a chalk bag. I don’t put on a harness. I kick off my shoes and march straight into the north silo.

There’s a climb in there that’s calling to me.

From the ground up, it’s one hundred and twenty-one feet. It’s the nation’s tallest indoor climb.

And I figure, why the hell not?

I climb. Dirty and tear-stained, blood dried on my arm, I climb. I climb with furry and abandon. I throw caution to the wind and fling myself from hold to hold, scaling up with record speed.

I don’t care about being careful anymore.

My sweaty palms slip on the holds as I push myself higher.

I reach the top, gasping and crying. I scream. The sound echoes down through the silo, bouncing off the round stone walls. I hang there at the top, fingers struggling for purchase.

I’m slipping.

And I don’t care anymore.

I could just let go.

Fall.

It would be so easy just to let go.

I remember how it felt when I fell off the slab climb. Those beautiful seconds of touching nothing but air.

All I have to do is just let go.

And it will all be over then. I won’t have to try anymore. I’m so tired of trying.

My fingers continue to slip. I let my feet go, just hanging by my fingers now.

Then I let one hand fall away.

Dangling by one hand now, I feel calm.

I just need to fall.

I take a deep breath.

God, I’m sorry. I couldn’t try anymore. Please, I just need to be done now. Please forgive me.

I’m ready.

And that’s when I hear a voice echo through the silo. I think it’s calling my name. I look down.

Jace is standing at the bottom, looking up at me.