Throwing the car into fifth shift, I floor the gas. Exhaust piles high out of the pipe, choking the outer walls of my rear tires and cascading around the intricate patterns on the edges of the windows. The pull of gravity throws me back against the seat, and I grip the steering wheel. I wont back out of this. I need to do this, to finish it. Glancing at the speedometer, I shove the car into sixth and place my hand back on the steering wheel.
Lights are dancing outside my window; they blend into each other and mingle, pressing close to the glass and to each other, high as a drug dealer in Bangkok. As I cling to the wheel, the colours sp
[ 3.o]
Now, Nissa, explain how you feel about yourself to me. Be as honest as you can.
A typical base question. One that gets asked all the time. How do you feel about yourself? What would you change? What do you like? Not necessarily in that order. We all reply the same way.
- We think were fine.
- We wouldnt change anything.
- We like everything about ourselves.
Its all lies, of course. We tell them what they want to hear. It just takes too much time to explain how we really view ourselves; how much we hate ourselves. If they knew the truth, they still wouldnt know what to do.