Sarah Gerard - Binary Star

I want to go to the beach.

I want to look good naked. I want to be in Playboy. I want a man to touch me without me asking him to.

I want to swim in a hotel pool, lie out by a hotel pool.

I want to climb into a Jacuzzi with other people and not stare at all of them.

I want them to stare at me.

I want to go back to North Dakota and lie in the middle of the road on top of a mountain.

I want to see all the stars at once.

I want someone to see me doing it. I also want to be alone.

I’m never alone.

I want someone I don’t know to tell me I’m pretty.

And I want to believe them.

I want to get fan mail.

I want to tell people what brand of clothes I’m wearing.

When I do something well, I want to know it before someone tells me. When they tell me, I want to feel proud.

I want to feel anything deeply.

I want to know what I’m feeling.

Then I want to be coy and not tell people about it.

I want them to ask. I want them to insist.

I want to feel like I’ve done something useful today.

Like I should go home and rest and wake up in the morning.

Feeling refreshed.

I want to wake at a reasonable hour and feel okay with that.

I want to see the sunrise after walking around a city all night.

I want to take a shower without seeing myself from the doorway.

Without having to look down.

I want to look forward.

Into the camera.

I want my selfies to get a thousand likes each.

I want to be in an Herbal Essences commercial.

I want to take a shower with a man, and I want us to clean each other, and I want it to be sweet, and I want to lie in bed afterward still wet, and for us to fall asleep together.

I want my vagina to get wet.

I want to have my period.

I want to talk about my period with other women.

I want to complain to other women about men not leaving me alone.

I want to be fed.

I want to taste something. I want to enjoy the taste.

Of anything.

I want to make foods my mother fed me.

I want to make her proud.

I want to be there when she dies.

I’m so afraid that she might die.

I want to hold her hand because there’s something strong and comforting in it.

Help me, Mom.

When I die, I want my children to be there.

I want to grow old and watch them grow older, and feel proud. I want them to be like me, but better.

I want to look at their father and have an understanding about our family.

I want to take them traveling with me when I leave the country on business.

I want to leave the country.

I want to leave.

The crystal structure at the core of a white dwarf is a body-centered cubic lattice.

The space between us grows smaller.

In a dark apartment, I walk the hallway dividing the kitchen from the bathroom. I talk to you.

A stack of Star Magazines sags on the table; a stack of InTouch Weekly molds by the toilet. Between them, a balance.

I’m hardening in the center.

You’re what?

Becoming more myself.

That’s good.

What about you?

I lie on the floor and compress my torso. I take handfuls of flesh and twist. I pull them away. I show my body what it is to dispose of itself. To get to the core. To release.

I wish you could see me right now, without a body.

You have done with your day. You have burned yourself away.

I wish.

What will you do when the river rises?

I’ll do nothing, you say. I’ll hammer it back together.

Sure you will. What can you do?

You have fantasies about a manifesto. You read me pages and words move about on the page. You’re asleep.

We, Students for Liberation, call for a revolution.

You return to them over and over. My opinion?

Burn them, John. They mean nothing.

You have ideas for the revolution: All governments and organizations that aid or support the illegitimate terrorist state.

We’ll live in the forest, you say.

Bullshit. You can’t live without Pandora.

Forage? Eat animals when you hunt them. Make a circle.

I am an animal. You’re an animal.

We, your Sons and Daughters, are calling for an end.

You’re behaving like an animal. You’re behaving like my animal.

You’re mine. You’re my anti-terrorist terrorist animal.

What will you do when you have to? Burn it.

What are my plans post-graduation? Stand at the precipice looking down.

I leave scars on my stomach. I beat them. I bite them and spit. I burn them. I feel nothing.

I chew, I spit, I chew, I spit, I chew, I spit, I chew until my gums bleed black. I chew my tongue front to back. I’m raw.

We want the world to know the real terrorists.

The main-sequence chart is coming off the wall. It obstructs the light in a triangle. Chew it off.

I rub ash into the cover. Chew something, anything.

Are you awake? Read it over. I didn’t catch the last part, John. Read it over and over again. Read it over and over and over. The red giant star is a red futon cover is a cover is a roof.

Dedication to use all our means.

How big will the tree house be? Will it really be a tree? Will we have running water?

Don’t be selfish.

Say you love me.

We are fighting to bring liberation to our comrades.

Say you miss me. Please just say it.

I do.

I do.

I know you do.

It’s hot but we’ve been inside all day and the sun is beginning to set on Long Island. We walk to the ABC Liquors and John argues with the man behind the counter because we both forgot our IDs and I look barely fifteen. The man knows us and is only giving John a hard time because John is wearing a VEGAN shirt and seems to invite conflict with it everywhere he goes, which is the point. They argue about the sanctity or not of veganism for several minutes before the issue of the ID comes up and John calls the man an animal killer, and throws a twenty-dollar bill at him. Then we leave.

The roofs of squat, grey strip malls form a jagged line following the turnpike stoplight after stoplight into the impending dark. I sense that John has forgotten the liquor store clerk already.

You know we can’t go back there, I say.

Why not?

Because you offended him.

Do you care?

It’s the only place within walking distance.

If you really care, then drive to another place.

Seems to me that would burn gas unnecessarily.

I think about saying more but I don’t. John finds me tiresome. He is also bored here.

I stop at the Walgreens and say that I’ll just be a minute, and John smokes a cigarette outside by the automatic doors. When I come out with a bag of magazines, he takes them from me and throws them into a trashcan.

What the fuck?

What do you like about those things?

I don’t know. I like the stories.

They’re for dimwits.

No, they’re not.

He looks at me for a long time.

I don’t want you reading them anymore. They’re brainwashing you. Do you like being brainwashed?

I walk around him and pull the bag out of the trashcan with the magazines still inside. I start across the lot and John follows behind me. At the edge of the sidewalk, he catches up with me.

You’re mad.

It’s not funny.

I’m not trying to be funny.

He pushes me down on the grass.

Why did you do that?

You toppled over.

Why would you do that?

I didn’t. You did.

Cut it out.

I stand up and walk away. He does it again.

What are you doing?

You keep falling over.

He does it again.

Seriously, stop.