The neighbors are asleep, but their living room lights are still on. Some of them have even left their curtains open and you can see the miniature ships on the mantle, their masts and sails. You can see the tiny Leviathans threatening to capsize them, and you find yourself hoping they do. Just once, you’d like to see someone else’s ship sink. Yours has been going down for years, and all the lifeboats have been taken. You’d like to think you tucked your girls safely in those rafts, strapped life vests around them before setting them adrift in icy waters, but if you were being honest with yourself, you’d realize the ones you’ve salvaged have been the men. Your girls are still sitting there on the railing of the crow’s nest, their ankles crossed like ladies, waiting for you to do something.
I know you want to do right by your girls.
Go to section N.