My name is Phillip. I live in North Carolina with my wife of 11 years and 3-year-old son, and at least for the next year, I’m on the right side of 40. (Both the interstate and existence, in years). I am a Tar Heel born and bred, and watch every Yankees game I can. My goal is to visit all 30 MLB stadiums in the next 10 years. I’ve been to 5 so far!
Obviously I enjoy writing, but I also enjoy watching and reading sci-fi. I’m slowly attempting to finish my first novel, a “humorous” sci-fi romp which may be finished one day. I am a Doctor Who obsessive and choose Star Trek over Star Wars.
When she awoke – truly and deeply woke from the sleep induced by testosterone, drugged with masculinity, weighed down by society’s down comforter – she looked to the future as her own. Liberated,
she was called many names. Her favorite dirty word was feminist, though she would be called much worse. The word that stuck was independent, married as it was to happiness, sealed with a kiss, they lived happily ever after.
(c) 2019 by Phillip Knight Scott
Written in response to the Daily Writing Prompt – August 2019 Feminist Book Title Challenge. Today’s book is The Awakening by Kate Chopin. Join in at the Brave and Reckless Blog.
I remember reading this book years ago in one of my first English classes at UNC and, as one of my first exposures into liberal, feminist art, it made an impression.
He said he no longer wished to be an astronaut because he didn’t want to leave me. Sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting for him – dreaming of space for whom the past is “today” and the future is “tomorrow” – to wrap up and climb down, I watched as time melted,
reminded that he will leave – of course he’ll leave – either for the moon or college or a girl or some other thing I’m going to hate but for now there is no other time for me than sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting for him, my binary star.
With all the authority of a mime sprinting to a parking meter he exclaimed, “Two-ply is the greatest invention in human history!” We didn’t know how to respond but in thinking about it, as one does, presented with a truth universally expounded even from behind,
we gathered back together, seated outside the cafe while the sun reared fluffy clouds skyward, and concluded for posterity’s sake: human rumps do prefer two-ply.
I don’t bother with the news on television, where heads talk over each other, no one listening nor changing minds. A platform for despicable people to “both sides” an issue, even those where merit, truth, meaning dissolve into deafening static, noise for its own sake.
I thought this would have changed after 2016, this desire to give equal time to unequal opinions, equal time to lies. So many other things have devolved unequivocally. This morning a government official said on camera the Statue of Liberty, a monument who welcomes immigrants to the American Dream should only invite people who can stand on their own two feet. My ancestors invaded before her flame was lit, conquerors but white. Of course that matters, giving rise to, supporting, and benefiting from a system designed to burn, a fire warming some, destroying others. From the ashes, civilization more equal, but tilted still, for some.
Perhaps rather than change we have reached the end, brought now through years of complacency or compliance, distracting us as we change the channel.
Viewed through a keyhole, a speedboat provides the escape we’ve been looking for, churning along the waves, engine chewing water, consuming miles in the offing, leaving only this view through a keyhole, a speedboat pulling us – eyes growing smaller – away.