Удушье (Choke)

Paige Marshall says, 'You'd rather see her dead than see her recover.'

And I say, 'Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don't know.'

All my life, I've been less my mother's child than her hostage. The subject of her social and political experiments. Her own pri­vate lab rat. Now she's mine, and she's not going to escape by dy­ing or getting better. I just want one person I can rescue. I want one person who needs me. Who can't live without me. I want to be a hero, but not just one time. Even if it means keeping her crippled, I want to be someone's constant savior.

'I know, I know, I know this sounds terrible,' I say, 'but I don't know. . . . This is what I think.'

Here's where I should tell Paige Marshall what I really think.

I mean, I'm just tired of being wrong all the time just because I'm a guy.

I mean, how many times can everybody tell you that you're the oppressive, prejudiced enemy before you give up and become the enemy. I mean, a male chauvinist pig isn't born, he's made, and more and more of them are being made by women.

After long enough, you just roll over and accept the fact that you're a sexist, bigoted, insensitive, crude, cretinist cretin. Women are right. You're wrong. You get used to the idea. You live down to expectations.

Even if the shoe doesn't fit, you'll shrink into it.

I mean, in a world without God, aren't mothers the new god? The last sacred unassailable position. Isn't motherhood the last perfect magical miracle? But a miracle that's impossible for men.

And maybe men say they're glad not to give birth, all the pain and blood, but really that's just so much sour grapes. For sure, men can't do anything near as incredible. Upper body strength, abstract thought, phalluses—any advantages men appear to have are pretty token.

You can't even hammer a nail with a phallus.

Women are already born so far ahead ability-wise. The day men can give birth, that's when we can start talking about equal rights.

I don't tell Paige all that.

Instead, I say how I just want to be one person's guardian angel.

'Revenge' isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

'Then save her by fucking me,' says Dr. Marshall.

'But I don't want her saved all the way,' I say. I'm terrified of losing her, but if I don't, I may lose myself.

There's still my mom's red diary in my coat pocket. There's still the chocolate pudding to get.

'You don't want her to die,' Paige says, 'and you don't want her to recover. Just what do you want?'

'I want somebody who can read Italian,' I say.

Paige says, 'Like what?'

'Here,' I say and show her the diary. 'It's my mom's. It's in Italian.'

Paige takes the book and leafs through it. Her ears look red and excited around the edge. 'I took four years of Italian as an undergrad,' she says. 'I can tell you what it says.'

'I just want to keep control,' I say. 'For a change, I want to be the adult.'

Still leafing through the book, Dr. Paige Marshall says, 'You want to keep her weak so you're always the one in charge.' She looks up at me and says, 'It sounds as if you'd like to be God.'