The
Good Consort*
“We
were lovers once, living almost as man and wife, happier than most
wives and men.” Ian McEwan (1978)
We love each
other, but there are cultural differences. One mate always cares more
than the other, and I was given the short end of the stick. She
distanced herself from me soon after I fired my English tutor. Having
mastered comprehension, I felt more than adequate as a partner.
Trying to train my glottis to enunciate properly was a lost cause, a
deficiency that led her to obsess on my animal nature. We reverted to
sign language, but most of the time she ignored me or screamed that I
had misrepresented myself from the start.
Though I
received excellent socialization in the lab, pleasing her has
required continual compromise. I am her junior by ten years, but any
Primatologist will tell you that human behavior is the most flexible
among the hominoids.
We were never
equals. Her needs always dominated--she, the Research Associate, I,
the experimental Subject. Even after she was fired from the
university for ethical violations, her self-esteem never wavered.
Though I am naturally promiscuous, her calculated defense of our
relationship kept her the singular object of my desire. But I have
been shunned since I began to assert myself. Our sexual positions
disgusted me, and I felt greater intimacy when sleeping in a nest of
blankets beside her bed. Cuddling only accentuated our physical
differences. Recently I have become the target of her verbal abuse,
and she is especially cruel in restaurants when I tear meat with my
teeth. Who cares if she is brighter and uses a knife? We are so
closely related that differences are not easily multiplied.
Last Tuesday
she boasted that she has applied for an online program in Gender
Studies. A Ph.D. will allow her to study the causes and consequences
of trans-species lust. Science always has been in her blood, and,
with or without me, she deserves to be happy.
*Originally published in 34th Parallel (Fr), 2015
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