tops o f your fingers. I never seen anything like it in m y life. It’s
an unreal as flapping your wings and actually flying. Y et I seen
Sensei do it; a hundred times; she says she can do fifty more. I
can barely breathe thinking about what it would feel like to do
it or to be so strong or so agile or so fucking brave, because I’d
be afraid o f falling; o f breaking m y fingers; o f slipping; o f pain.
I love it; I live for her to do it; up and down, with the tips o f her
fingers taking all the weight o f her body going down, then
lifting her up. I can raise just the top half o f m y body, about
five times, which is pretty usual and she says that’s how to
build the muscles and we have to have patience to undo the
damage o f being made weak; and I see it ain’t just the penis
they nail you with, they pin you down at both ends, and all the
strength you could have in the upper part o f your body is
atrophied as if you was paralyzed your whole life; except you
w asn’t. I tell m yself that whatever I can take from him,
w hom ever, I can take for me; me; now; and when I get weak
and fall back to m y bad old w ays because I never had a me and
still don’t except by forcing m yself to think so I say I’m doing
it for her; this me is pretty tenuous but I can take anything for
him and a fair amount for her and I play with it in m y mind,
that it’s for her, and I watch m yself with interest, how physical
pain changes when it is in the guise o f sex or love or infatuation
or even just seduction, I will get her attention by m oving,
m oving, ju st a little more, just a little bit more; I pretend this is
sex but I still never get past sixty and it is because I have wrong
thinking and a girl’s stupid life. B y sixty I mean sixty o f barely
m oving; I never got past seventeen actual whole sit-ups and I
never got to one whole push-up; and I still don’t know w hy
her fingers don’t break from the butterfly push-ups; and she
teaches us to make a fist and we practice and m y fingers are too
stupid and weak even to do that right, I try to fold them under
so every joint is folded under every other joint so it’s solid and
hard and not filled with air the w ay girls make fists but my
fingers w o n ’t m ove right and I can’t make the sections tight
enough. The part I like is breathing. Y ou take all the air in you,
inert stuff, and you exhale like you is threatening God
face-to-face; you push like the air itself could kill. All the air
you took in during fucking, all that Goddamn spastic inhaling,
all that panting like some desperate dog, you shoot out, like
it’s bullets; I got a lot o f air to push out. Then there’s the horse
position, where you take a stance, your legs spread far apart so
your thigh muscles are tearing from the weight o f your whole
body resting on them; your feet are pointed out and your legs
are spread far apart and your knees are bent and pointing out
and the rest o f you is on your thighs, absolutely still, at perfect
silence; and after about five minutes your calf muscles begin to
bear the weight o f your thighs which time makes heavier and
somehow you feel the weight o f your soul and your life in the
muscles in the insides o f your thighs, because if you ’re a girl
you lived there and m em ory’s stored there and the world
banged up against you there, so you undertake to bear the
burden o f it with conscious knowledge, a physical self-
consciousness, a remorseless, aching cognition; and the
history in your body comes alive as the muscles in your thighs
strain under the weight o f your life; the life o f the cell; a
brilliant physical solitude with all o f the self spread out along
the fault line o f the thighs, a bridge o f muscle; and you are
absolutely still, contemplative, in pain, yes, a located pain, a
fierce ache o f recognition and identity; you are still; until
Sensei orders you to relax, which is only slightly less
burdensome but feels like deliverance; and I think to m yself
that everything these thighs took they will get strong enough
to give back; it is a promise I make m yself in horse position to
be able to bear it; it is a promise I make every time over and
over; it is a promise my thighs will remember even if I forget.
Sensei says women got an advantage with the thighs, more
strength than we might expect, because o f the high heels they
make us wear; I got strong thighs because o f the reason under
the reason; I been in horse position on m y back most o f my
life; I like it alone and standing up. Sensei says eat steak but I
can only afford potatoes, or sometimes frozen squash, or
sometimes cheese, or the free bar food, but the men are
unbearable so I don’t do that unless I am ravenous; sometimes
I’m hungry too much. I take double classes twice a week
because I want to be strong; I am dying to be strong; all my
money goes to Sensei and I fail at sit-ups twice in a night and I
fail to do one whole push-up twice in a night, two times a
week; and I have to come up with a stupendous amount o f
money, because it is fifteen dollars a class, so that is fifteen
times four, and Sensei berates me when I say I will have to take
a single class twice a week for a month or two or even three
because I cannot find the money to pay for double classes; I feel
m y serious w ord that this is so is enough but she takes it as if I
am lying or I don’t value her or I don’t have devotion, as if it’s
an excuse; and I feel enraged; because it’s as if she’d turn me out
for her fucking money, if you want it you can get it she says
like any pimp on the street; I am a writer, I am going to hurt
men, I am a serious person; she knows it. Sensei says she’s
never seen anyone with a will like mine but it’s a trick to flatter
me so I’ll be persuaded to get the money for double classes
after I’ve said I can’t and I’m feeling the indignity because I am
pure will and I have not insulted her by uttering one frivolous
word. I am engaged in the serious jo b o f survival and the
creation o f a plan to stop men; hurt them, stop them, kill them;
and I am not some fool who says insubstantial things and I
don’t have money to m ove around, as if I can take it from
something I don’t need, which I feel is an indignity to have to
explain, and I feel rage because she is middle-class in this w ay
that demeans me and the dojo’s in a Victorian brownstone she
owns with her lover, a woman with round shoulders and
sagging breasts who does not do sit-ups or horse position
standing up; there is a sudden horror in my heart, a queasy
feeling o f sickness and dread, because I ask her to be sober and