So many girls chose Handmaid, though, that it takes two days to finish them all. The first presenter is super nervous, reading a long quote about control and forgiveness and how they are and aren’t the same thing. I try not to look at Raychel, and she tries not to look at me, but I know she’s hoping I heard it.
I hear it loud and clear. A lot of things have gotten clearer, like the fact that I never really knew her as well as I thought. Dr. Shin says I’m pissed that Raychel isn’t the person I thought she was, but that she’s glad I’m realizing my expectations were unfair. “You don’t accumulate kindness points with women,” she said. “They’re not games that move you on to the next level when you’ve beaten their initial defenses.” When I told her what Trenton said, she nodded and suggested he had a future as a psychologist. I told her that was good, because he sure doesn’t have one as a musician.
The second presenter does well, contrasting the handmaids’ uniforms with nuns’ habits or Muslim head coverings. I’d thought of the latter as I was reading, but the presenter points out that habits and the hijab are both supposed to be choices. “Ideally, Christians and Muslims are allowed to choose their dress as a way to express piety,” she explains. “Handmaids have no say at all.”
I keep thinking about it during the next two presentations, in part because I don’t know enough about Islam to know if she’s right, but also because before class, I saw Carson watching Raychel as she walked down the hall. She could wear a burka and he’d still stare at whatever body he imagined underneath it.
I’m not sure imagining what was in her mind makes me much better.
The last Handmaid presenter focuses on a scene where the women are forced to tear apart a condemned man. The girl wants to argue that the main character is irredeemable for taking part, but Ms. Moses asks how much blame an individual really deserves in that situation. “She’s forced into a corner,” Ms. Moses says. “These authorities have put her in a position where every choice is wrong.”
“She doesn’t have any other power,” another girl says. “Except for having babies, but that’s not something she can control.”
“And he’s the only target she’s allowed to hit,” a guy near me adds. “I mean, she’s trapped twenty-four/seven and barely allowed to talk. Showing the leaders she’s still strong is her only chance to be a threat.”
Raychel clears her throat. “But even that’s a punishment,” she says from across the room. “If they can’t force her to carry babies, they can force her to carry that blame. Her only chance to show strength makes her weaker in the long run.”
“I don’t know about weaker,” Ms. Moses says. “It certainly shows that on some level, she’s flawed just like the leaders, but also that she has the same potential for power.”
“But does she?” I ask. “Even in their position, she couldn’t force them to carry a baby. It’s the baby part that makes this book, like … uniquely horrifying.” It sounds like a prepared answer, because it is, in a way. I still don’t like the book, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot. “They can’t carry equal guilt,” I say, “because they can’t inflict equal punishments.” I look at Raychel as I add, “Because they’re inherently different.”
Ms. Moses nods and moves on, but Raychel stares at me until I shrug. I don’t have to like it to learn from it.
RAYCHEL
The holidays go by slowly. I don’t have work or school to distract me, though the past few months have paid off in straight As, including my Senior Seminar project. I had wondered if Matt would present on The Handmaid’s Tale in some big gesture to make things up to me. I’m glad he didn’t. And that he liked my project enough to give me an A.
My current project is making our duplex look like Christmas threw up all over it. My mom thinks I’m getting in the spirit. But secretly, it’s a way to feel close to Andrew, who was like a little kid about the holidays. There’s not an inch of space that isn’t glittered, tinseled, snowflaked, or otherwise Kris Kringled. Eddie helps me reach the high spots. Mom reminds me I’m cleaning all this up.
Good. It’ll give me something else to do.
MATT
Christmas is predictably awful. Dad brings home a Charlie Brown tree because he can’t stand the bare room and Mom tries to decorate it, but she keeps finding ornaments Andrew and I made out of handprints in clay or painted macaroni, and she ends up in bed for two days.
I unpack things just so I can repack them.
Our friends come home from college and aren’t willing to leave me or Raychel out of get-togethers. We make some small talk when we’re in a group, but never one on one. I used to like how affectionate our friends are, but it’s a pain in the ass now. She and I manage to avoid any hugs until Christmas Eve, when she accidentally ends up in front of my open arms as everyone’s leaving. I’m not sure I can handle it, and obviously neither is she, but we try.
It hurts, but we survive.
*
On Christmas Day, I cry before I even get out of bed because Andrew didn’t jump on me at 5 a.m. But I drag myself downstairs and give my parents some lame presents: a cookbook for Dad and a journal for Mom. They give me things for my dorm room I already knew I was getting, like a mini fridge and some sheets for my dorm bed. Mom makes Andrew’s favorite cinnamon rolls and we eat them around the breakfast bar, trying to recount past Christmases without getting upset. Over the weekend, we visit my grandparents’ house in Illinois, where my aunts try to make things cheerful and my grandmother keeps glaring at them for it. By the end of the trip, things are so bad that we actually laugh about it on the drive home.
Then it’s New Year’s Eve. Nathan and Eliza come over to hang out with me. They toast to my college career with white grape juice and leave before midnight to go to a real party. I go to bed.
New Year’s Day, my dad and I watch twelve straight hours of football.
Then it’s January, and I’m not sure I still want to leave, but it’s time.
*
One last get-together, and I’m free.
As free as I’ll ever be, anyway.
On my way over, I stop at Trenton Alexander Montgomery the Third’s house, parking behind a black Jeep in his driveway. He looks surprised to see me. “Ali!” he says, raising my arm. “How’s it hanging?”
“Just wanted to say goodbye,” I say, embarrassed now that I’m here. “Thanks for … stuff.”
“‘Stuff’ is my specialty,” he says, stepping out onto the porch. “Good luck, man.”
I give him a one-armed bro hug. “You too. Let me know if Rosa ever comes around.”
He grins. “Whose car do you think that is?” he asks, pointing to the driveway.
I whistle appreciatively, recognizing her fancy silver hubs. “Maybe you are the greatest.”
“Undoubtedly.” We do another bro hug and I get in the car.
RAYCHEL