The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

I'm just a girl who can't say no

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I wish, sometimes, that this were true. In fact, I'm fairly certain that when trying to conjure images of my face, most people would instead envision the word 'no', in big, black letters. Castellar font, maybe, bold and italicized. I always mean it, am unwavering in my 'no-ness'. I think it probably frustrates a lot of people.

I no-ed the suggestion that I continue on with a life that felt like punishment. I no-ed when hands moved above my knee and creeped up my thigh. I no-ed when I was offered a bag of pills, all looking like candy, neon and opaque, beautiful and dangerous. I said no to the fancily named drinks and to the pool of naked swimmers. I said no to a last-minute proposal and to the hand of a fraudulent friend who begged me to forgive her. No to tears for the dead who suffered long enough and were finally let to roam without their diseased bodies. No to cold winter walks and tented nights in a mosquitoed wood. No to jumping in the water from a rope swing in the country, and no to raw fish wrapped in seaweed paper. No to jet planes and sky diving. No to roller coasters and fast cars driven by boys I didn't know. I know what I want and what I don't. You can't change me.

M. can, though. He can sometimes make me rethink my choices, later causing me to bristle at his power. M. has made me say yes to leaving a life I knew behind in order to embark upon the unknown. I've said yes to taramosalata (Greek, a fish roe dip) and climbing down a mountain. I've said yes to chairlifts and sailboats. I've said yes to outings on lazy afternoons when I would have rather stayed in bed. I've said yes to driving him to airports, eating freeze-dried larvae and yes to flying simulator aircraft (amazingly, I got sick, but at least I did it). I've said yes to Roxy music and Lawrence of Arabia, to artichokes and Valpolicella. I said yes to his question about whether I would let him, and I said yes when he asked me if I loved him. I said yes to having his baby and yes to holding his frail mother up as we walked a long, dark hallway. I say yes to him because I feel like there is no other answer, and it almost always feels right.

I owe most of my small accomplishments to him, I think. The published work, the endless hours of working on words and how to string them together. I write because of him, you know. The way he spoke about his favourite writers, the poems he wrote me when he was feeling dizzy with love, the way his face looked proud when he'd read something I'd written without thinking, all pushed me toward discovery. I said yes when he suggested I continue working on it because it seemed right. No one had ever cared before, no one had ever seen me. I knew he was seeing me. I knew he loved me and that any suggestion of his was worth considering. My greatest joy, my wee one, is here because I said yes, yes, yes! to him with more passion than I'd ever known before him. I have said yes to offers of backrubs and hand holding and barefooted dancing on the cold kitchen floor. My happiest moments have happened because of him and my decision to say yes.

Occasionally, I resist him. It's in my nature to plant my feet in one place and refuse to budge. Not contrary, exactly, more like frightened and unsure, but I wrap it in stoicism. For some reason, I mostly believe him when he says things will be fine. Even so, I've said no to other things, unable to shake the deeper fears. I said no to France, the trip which would have included a marriage proposal, the trip I said no to without even so much as a thank you. He didn't know I was terrified, thought I was still emotionally tethered to someone else and was not interested in exploring his childhood with him, but it was always about the fear. I couldn't say no to the fear even though I don't respect it. Things would be different without it, I know. If 'no' wasn't a part of me, I'd say yes to Paris. I'd say yes to roaming the streets of Venice on foot. I'd say yes to Bondi beach and the meat pies he raves about at Nick's Cafe de Wheels. I am working at it. Every day, I am working on it.

Like any real woman, though, I hold on to my no's and keep them for the things which matter. I refuse to let them go, because they're mine, and I have a right to them, no matter how much love and pleading there is.

Of course, they might hurt less if I didn't wield them like I would a sabre or dull-edged axe.