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Ana was the spider. Ana was the quiet stalker who built interlocking lattices of protection. Her textiles produced more safety than those who patronized her work would ever know. She would cover her world in their warm embrace.
Ana was the predator, not the prey. She kept the world around her under tight control; each object, each insect wrapped tightly in its place. She pushed and pushed the limits of her sovereignty through its unchecked expansion. Ana would carve her path straight through them all until she had what she wanted. Her heart wouldn’t beat until she crossed the finish line that signified the finality of her growth.
She knew the line was just the horizon, that the horizon would always outpace her reach. She knew that in her rapid expansion there were threats in her territory. Individuals she simply couldn’t manipulate out of being the implicit dangers that they were. They were unfortunately crucial elements of her social network, unsubstitutable. Emotional pylons that connected her at the center of her web to the valuable resources along its borders. She’d let their waves of treachery wash over her, rolling along the web, letting it be tussled in the breeze.
She wouldn’t let them hurt her. They could. They had. But she wouldn’t let them hurt her.
The dead pheasant party was stupid. The things they valued were stupid. Socializing here was a means to its own end. Knitting endless webs that extend from one woman to another to another. This place here and now was a necessity for what was to come later. They thought her their friend, a role Ana played marvelously. And if she shifted the definition somewhat it would be true, they were indeed friends in a manner of speaking. But there was a defined distance Ana had to keep to for her own sanity. Sanity and safety, but clever women can sense distance, and in situations like this allowing some emotional permeation was a necessity.
It was January who cracked her mask, but it was the room’s blythe acceptance that shattered it. It made sense it would be January, she was brash, boisterous, not afraid to speak her mind. A perfect cop, eager to hurt those beneath her to toady those above. It was truly incredible. How could something so large pass unnoticed. It was so obvious to anyone willing to see, to anyone who had any sense how the world worked. The only answer was the simple truth Ana had always known. They don’t value you, Ana. They never will.
Ana’s face was as tight as she could make it, stretched into the most pleasant grimace she could muster. Tears battered against the levy of her soul, but she refused to let it break. Ana prayed to let it wash and roll through her, to let the slight trail off of her back and onto the floor where she would promptly forget about it.
If they see it they’ll ask. If you tell them they’ll abject you. Force you into the out group, rather than chastise their own microaggressions. They won't invite you out as much, and think you’re awkward, a fun ruiner. They’ll think you spoiled the party, by bringing up petty issues that divided the group.
Tears from the fear of desolation began swelling as well and the resulting deluge broke the dam and began spilling down her face. Ana had to leave, but if she moved they would all look at her and ask what was wrong. If she spoke to excuse herself her voice would shake, and they would all descend on her to comfort their soft trans best friend.
She was outside on the deck of the house facing away from the party. The ocean rolled and crashed gently against the sand in a grand ballet. Neither the earth nor the sea itself would acknowledge their battle for supremacy, holding each other hand in hand as they pushed and pulled and shoved to no end.
Philomena was behind her. Philomena said she noticed Ana leave the party and was here to find out what was wrong. Wow, if only she knew. Knew how predictable the whole situation was to Ana. How she had seen time unfold before her through the vibrations in her web. If only someone else could see the pain and trauma and ideology behind all things. See it in her stead, so that Ana could just be the fun loving teenage girl that she always wanted to be. Oblivious to to the ways she was implicitly ostracised.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just…” Ana spouted some lie, about something tragic or silly and successfully deflected the inquiry. I’m fine, everybody loves me.