“I don’t know why she can’t just breastfeed like the rest of us.” “If she really wanted the promotion, she’d work weekends.” “Her trauma is not an excuse for being late.”
“Ms. Americana is not on trial for what she did. She is on trial for what you fear she might do next: stop caring. Stop performing. Stop smiling. Stop being a Rorschach test for your own anxieties about gender, power, and the terrifying fact that half the human race has been running a marathon on a broken track, and you’ve been calling it ‘dramatic.’” The Trials Of Ms Americana.127
She is Ms. Americana. And she is on trial. Again. “I don’t know why she can’t just breastfeed
In other words, the sentence is life.
The audience begins to laugh. Then the laughter thins. Then someone is crying. Then everyone realizes the crying is part of the sound design—a low, continuous thrum, like a refrigerator in an empty apartment. Stop performing
The bass drops. The crown rolls off the stage. A janitor picks it up. He places it on a broom handle, like a lantern.