One Woman
by Clancy Wilmott

She was born, crying and screaming from Mother to Doctor, from a warm sac into a brutally cold new night where the stars cried. Her first breath of air from the outside world burnt her lungs and singed her eyes.

Her connection to Mother was cut by a Man with scissors. She was picked up and held and cradled.

Mother was told not to breastfeed. It was dirty and indulgent. The plastic of the crib, the sterility of the hospital, the baby-formula, the diapers, the disinfectants all taught her before she could open her eyes that Birth was dirty. Motherhood was dirty. Woman was dirty. The unnatural products of Man was far superior.

When she could walk she was told not to play in the dirt. She would ruin her dress. She stayed inside and dressed her dolls in stockings and corsets. Brother climbed trees, caught lizzards and played soccer in the earth. He ruined his clothes and Mother bought more.

When no one was looking he would play with her dolls house. When no one was looking she would make mud pies. And no one ever saw.

Then she want to school. She was taught how to read and write, to sit quietly and listen, to put up her hand and wait until the teacher gave her permission to speak.

Permission rarely came.

She put up her hand but the teacher ignored her. The yells of the boys were louder. When she spoke out of turn she was reprimanded. When she sat quietly she was ignored. When she spoke she was never right.

She was taught that her opinion was not valuable. Because she was not loud enough. Boys was loud. Woman is not. Because she was not rational enough. Boys were rational. Woman is not. Because she did not take up enough space. Boys were big. Woman is not.

She learnt that boys had to express themselves. They took up as much space as they needed. They said she threw like a girl, and talked too quietly like a bird.

She hunched over her work, and tried to lose weight. She used up too much space.

When she reached puberty she learnt about her body. She learnt about disease, about cancer, about infection. She learnt about blood, and milk, and come, and hair. She learnt about pregnancy and underage mothers. She learnt that unless she protected herself her body would betray her. Her body was a landmine. It was dirty. But doctors and medicines and pills and santination would put it in its place. The unnatural products of Man were far superior. The body of Man was far superior.

But she also learnt it that her body had other uses. It was warm and round. It was photogenic and erotic. It was good at selling things. Her body was the temple of Man to sell watches and cigarettes and deodorant. It was only beautiful when Man could look at it.

Mother taught her that Woman alone is Woman Incomplete. Woman needed Man. Smiling families, prom movies, girlfriend magazines resounded most terribly in her self-image. Where she was once whole, she became half.

When she awakened sexually she learnt what was expected of her. She was passive. She was perceptive. She was a f*ck. She was f*cked. She never f*cked. She never came. Sex was not supposed to be enjoyable. Not for her. She would attend to the needs of Man, in thanks that he did cast her out. Her body of Eve was sinful. She was steeped in Victorian Guilt. She would drink the semen of Man before she would drink her own blood.

And as thus she found herself a boyfriend, a fiancee, a husband.

She was forced to make a choice. No woman could have it all. To try is to be selfish and neglect both aspects of her life. No one would support her. Not the government, not the politicians, not her marriage. She chose children because she was taught by society that she was supposed to be nurturing and maternal. She was supposed to want children. At the cry of a child and the chink of a rattle an instinct would awaken. She would love and protect. But it never happened.

Even so, she had children. But she did hide her freakish dirty secrets, her hateful unmotherly thoughts, under her pasta bake.

When her first child was born Woman/Mother was told to breastfeed. To wait and to tease and get used to it and her instinct would come. But her child was dragged from her by a Man with forceps and cut by a Man with scissors.

Woman tried but could not breastfeed. Her body was dirty. Her milk was soiled and she was not a mother. Her instinct had not come. It has been stifled and suffocated and killed because she had been taught that it was dirty. Woman had been turned into Robot.

When her daughter could walk she told her not play in the dirt because she would ruin her dress.

Her children grew and she could not.

When she reached menopause her uterus finally spluttered and died with, she perceived, the last part of her that was Woman. She was Reproduction and it had stopped.

The body of Woman still smelt and still leaked. It was bent out of shape by arthristic and age, and fat particles drooped off her thighs and hips. Her wrinkles sagged and created burrows around her eyes and neck, her skin became freckled and her hair disappeared.

Advertising said that this was not what Woman looked like. This is not what Woman did. But she could not force her body to fit the image of Man. Surgery was a privilege. She spent money on face cream to stop it but to no avail.

Her husband died 15 years before she would. Prostate cancer on a hospital bed and the instruments of Man were no stronger than nature. Shrunken, shriverlled virility. Man by the definition of Man was still vulnerable. And thinking this she laughed humourlessly at his funeral. The superiority of Man began to dissolve.

Alone, she took up knitting. But she hated it. She took up sewing crocheting braiding weaving embroidery drawing painting folk art quilling tole patchwork quilting but hated it all. Then she knew.

She sat in the garden and made mud pies. She formed a goal post out of her hills hoist and played soccer. She made her skirts into shorts and climbed trees.

One morning she rose out of bed, and for the first time she neither turned away for cringed. She took off all her clothes and stared at her body, naked and gnarled, in the mirror in the hall. She admired herself. She touched and massaged the fat on her stomach and buttocks. She taught herself to masturbate without guilt. She threw out her make up and burnt her magazines. She cut her hair and dyed it purple.

Her children thought she was demented. Senile. Psychotic. She told them that she was liberated.

First Sunday of the mon on the porch a lady passed her and winked. Next Sunday she stuck out her tongue. The Sunday after she was invited for tea and cake. Last Sunday of the month they forgot about tea and had better uses for the cakes.

And for the first time she was told she was beautiful and natural through the mouth of Woman. And for the first time she knew it.

Her granddaughter was delivered by a midwife at home. Woman and her lover sat on the porch and let their granddaughter do whatever she wished. And called her on the phone and told her that she was beautiful every single day. And her granddaughter grew up to know it and accept nothing else.