A Little Feminist Flash Fiction
by angela readman
Procedures for the Cop after Thelma & Louise
You can’t stand on the brink of that canyon forever. The freeze frame slushes. You want to hold those girls, women, in sunglasses flying forever. You want to see only sky, sky, sky, sky like four TV’s in their eyes. You can’t. Don’t look down.
Listen to colleagues at the station. Every time some bitch dies, there’s paperwork, overtime. Damn waste of a Thunderbird. The cowboy’s bailed rocking, fucking an invisible girl.
You’ll buy flowers coming home, can’t say why. Your wife sniffs suspicion or gratitude, you’re unsure. Think of a man scraping pizza off his shoe; attend the sink after supper, soap the plates. You can do more.
Drive by the house again. Look through your window – the room’s as she left it. Embroidered roses dangle on the dishcloth. Lace curtains breathe butterflies onto another scorcher. Slot your Visa in the door, sit inside.
Look at the photo of that girl with the baton. That twirler, all skinny hopes. The back says Louise. Thirteen. Trials. Wonder what she tried for, why it mattered. Wonder more.
Kiss your wife’s neck tonight at the stove. Touch that photograph, twirl it in your pocket. Keep twirling, twirl for your life.