A promise of punishment

30,000 steps in an equatorial city, tears like baby diamonds behind my round sunglasses. I do all my best crying in faraway cities, as I walk among strangers. Here, I’m a dog with new tricks. I’ve got skin in the game. Sweaty gal, thighs chafing under my pantsuit, in a dotted pattern. I still remember the department saleswoman waiting as I tried on the pants, asking for my opinion from behind the door. I was always shy with the pressure of responding positively, even if I didn’t like how I looked, which I never did and never have. Like an idiot, I have lacerated my eye and, as a result, cannot go to the dojo for two weeks. Fuck me. I cover the mouthpiece on the phone so I can scream without disturbing the woman on the emergency line. She is patient with me but without being kind, which is a skill I would like to learn. In the following days, bed rotting in a dark room, my eye swimming under the bandage, I privately relish the physical agony, like the masochist I am. I’ve always longed…

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