Queer Greer by Walkley A. J

Author:Walkley, A. J. [Walkley, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9781604814651
Publisher: Wordclay
Published: 2009-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

“If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.”

- Erica Jong

DECEMBER

It had been Becca’s idea. She said she had heard about The Vagina Monologues from her mother, a huge Eve Ensler fan. She thought it would be empowering for Becca to check them out, and Becca, in turn, brought me.

They were being performed at this café called The Hatch downtown. The place was packed, but we were able to find a couple of stools in the corner.

“Hello ladies and… ladies!” the Emcee said, taking the stage to announce the show was about to start. I looked around and noticed that the entire place was indeed absent of men. “Welcome to The Hatch and our 5th Annual Vagina Monologue reading!”

Cheers came from every table, Becca hooting and applauding with them. I remained an unbiased observer, not exactly knowing what to expect. I didn’t have to wait long to have my curiosity fulfilled.

“First up we have our own Hallie Tate, starting the show off with a bang, no pun intended, reciting Eve Ensler’s ‘Reclaiming Cunt.’”

Hallie, a heavy-set black girl, probably around 17 or 18 years-old, took the mike from the Emcee with a smile and let the monologue erupt:

“I call it cunt. I’ve reclaimed it, Cunt. I really like it. Cunt. Listen to it… C C. Ca Ca… then u-then… n then… t… tell me Cunt. Cunt…”

Her mouth opened each time to reveal another word that elicited sex in some way, shape or form. The poem was fire and sweat. The V between my legs was almost pulsing.

Speechless, I clapped so hard for Hallie when she finished my palms were numb by the time she left the stage.

I turned to Becca, “Holy shit. That was – amazing.”

She smiled at me. “Right? Just wait for the rest of ‘em.”

Becca wasn’t kidding. For the next hour and a half, I heard women talk about the sort of things I was told not to talk about – and they mentioned that, too. I heard about hairy vaginas, bloody vaginas, sad and happy vaginas, orgasming vaginas, and wet vaginas. I never knew there were so many ways to refer to a vagina before. The women who performed were fierce, unashamed of the topic they were being so vocal about. They told us what their vaginas would wear and say. But, they also told us about being beaten or punished for no reason. It made me see my womanhood differently. It made me proud to sit next to Becca, knowing her “coochi snorcher” as she knew mine, and loving that fact.

***

That night I got home and felt an inspiration causing my fingers to twitch. I grabbed my journal from its new hiding place under the carpet beneath my dresser, took a purple pen from my desk and propped myself up on my bed. For the first time in weeks, I wrote:

My Vagina is schizophrenic. She doesn’t know whether to be hairy or bare. She wants her hair or her nudity to be her decision. She wants to feel empowered by that decision.

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