Marin assured her friends that day that even if she were a man before, she would never be a man again, not in any future lives. When they demanded to know why, she answered with all the confidence born from not knowing, “Because that’s the easy way out. I like the hard way better, because then you know who you really are.”
Never would she have predicted how hard it would get, or how Brent would hold his position as man of the house over her like a burning flame, ready and willing to scorch her if she didn’t obey. His threat so powerful and so effective that if asked again who she would reincarnate as—a man or a woman—Marin would say neither. She would rather not be reborn at all.
RANEE
She was born to give birth. That and to keep house. From the time Ranee could remember, she was taught all the intricacies of making a home. From doing laundry and the proper way to fold it, to making roti perfectly round. She and all the other girls she knew were enrolled full time in the school of homemaking from the moment they uttered their first word.
Ranee would listen as her brothers spoke about school, what they had learned and the games they played. They would bring home books that Ranee yearned to read but didn’t know how. After begging her older brother for hours to teach her, he gave her a basic lesson. With it, she taught herself the rest. Sneaking the books with her to the outhouse, Ranee would use the few minutes of privacy to devour as many chapters as she could. As they got older, their books became more sophisticated. The stories were of places Ranee had never been, countries Ranee dreamed of visiting.
After their arrival in the States, Ranee’s constant exposure to women who were confident both in their careers and their places in the house gave Ranee a different perspective. Whether in television or real life, Ranee watched them like a voyeur. Admiring their suits, their confidence, made her wonder what it would be like to be in control. To be the one who made the decisions, who forged the path of her and her daughters’ futures, instead of it all being laid out for them.
She never told anyone of her wishes, not even the women she called friends in the community, for fear of their reaction. As time wore on, the dream seemed to fade farther away. But on Sonya’s birthday a few months back, it became obvious; the decision didn’t really need to be made, just followed through.
Once Sonya left, Ranee had no reason to celebrate her birthday. The day passed quietly, until the silence became deafening. Brent was seated in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper. His eyes had started to give him trouble, a side effect of the diabetes that ravaged his body. The doctor had prescribed drops, but he also used Visine to help with the redness.
“Ranee,” he called out, refusing to get up, “bring me my eye drops.”
Normally, Ranee would have rushed to do his bidding, anxious to keep him happy. But the day was weighing on her. Another year without her youngest.
“Do you miss her?” Ranee asked, needing to fill the emptiness.
“Who?” Brent asked, not bothering to glance up.
“Sonya,” Ranee bit out. “Our daughter.”
Brent lowered the paper slowly, clearly agitated at being disturbed. “Why are you asking me this today?”
Shocked, Ranee stared at him. “It’s her birthday.” Ranee had left her a voice mail, but unlike every year past, Sonya did not return the call. Normally the sound of her voice assuaged the heartache, but today Ranee didn’t even have that. She tried twice more, but still no answer.
Realization dawned on Brent. Dismissing the importance, he raised his paper again, squinting to make out the words. “It was her choice to leave, Ranee.”
Fury propelling her, Ranee pulled the paper out of his hands. She saw his anger simmer, knew her action was fuel on fire. Maybe she was looking for a fight, something to make her feel again since numbness had taken over. “Again and again, you told her she was a mistake.” When Sonya left, she had taken a part of Ranee. “She had no choice.”