I woke up this morning from a vivid dream which disturbed me. So much so, I had to write it down into this short story. If you’re reading this, and you aren’t a Christian, don’t switch off. It isn’t a “Christian” message, as such… but there is a picture of what could be for all of us.
“So what I’m hearing, Vee, is you think you had an encounter, but you’re not fully sure.”
“Yeah. I wanted to discuss it because I wanted clarification. But… you know… I’m not allowed to ask questions outside this room.”
“Talk us through what happened.”
As Vee shared what had happened to her the previous night, I listened intently whilst the others around the table questioned her. Jessica was a bit hesitant to accept anything beyond what she could see, and her questions were tough. Catherine was a bit more open, and so asked the questions to draw out the reality of what Vee believed. Annabelle was quietly observant – I guessed she would be mulling things over in her mind.
We were seated around a table, the remnants of our meal cluttering the surface. The blinds weren’t fully closed as we needed some light, but it was angled in such a way no one from outside had a clear view inside. We could just about still see each other in the fading daylight.
“Anie?” Jennifer, the youngest of us, turned to me, “What do you think? Has Vee encountered God really, or not?”
Her twin sister, Charlotte, who was sitting next to me, leaned forward to hear what I’d say. They’d arrived with their mother, Catherine, having had a bad experience in college last week. They’d tried to argue women should be hospitalised in single sex wards following a number of reported incidences of women being raped by men claiming to be women. It should be precautionary, they’d said. They’d been called out as bigots by their teachers. And attacked on their way home. Both still bore the healing bruises and cuts on their arms and faces.
“I’m curious,” she whispered for fear of being heard by too many people. “Cause you know on a Sunday, we’re told God won’t talk to us. Because we’re women.”
“And this is why we’re having to meet like this,” Annabelle reminded them.
“In secret,” Jessica’s voice had risen slightly, rolling her eyes. The twins, and Annabelle shushed her, pleading with their eyes in case anyone should have heard.
“What?!” Jessica demanded. “We should be able to say what we want. Freely discuss the things which are important to us. Raise the questions about what we’re seeing and experiencing. We have has much right as anyone out there to our opinions.”
“You’d think!” retorted Catherine. “And yet…. Here we are!”
“I don’t disagree with you,” I turned to Catherine. “But, you and I have experience of what happens to those women who do speak out. It reminds me of the Christina Dalcher novel, Vox. I read it years ago. Pre-pandemic when people were a little more tolerant. I thought it was scarier than Attwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, not thinking for one moment it could possibly happen. And yet…. As Catherine says, here we are.”
“It was only a matter of time before these things became unbearable for us,” Vee agreed.
“Unfortunately,” I nodded. “When Rowling was cancelled from her own book and film by the people she’d given a career to; when sports women started being cancelled for questioning the integrity of their sport… well it was a slippery slope down from there.”
“I never, ever for one moment thought it would have been accepted by the Church, though!” Catherine was grieved by how quickly women had been silenced in her local Church. “It’s like the complete opposite of how Jesus would be with us.”
“I did,” I replied, as Annabelle and Jessica nodded. “Unfortunately, many leaders held on to the one verse in the whole of the Bible about women not being permitted to speak. Throughout history, they’ve always used it to oppress us and decreed it as ‘God’s desire’. But, contrary to this patriarchal view, there are many women through whom and to whom God’s Spirit spoke. But again, I saw it being played out quite virulently online from across the pond. Never thought it would become such an aggressive stance today, to take us back to how women were treated in the past…”
“Oppressed, you mean,” Vee cut in.
“Welcome to 1984,” Jessica lifted her glass and waved it at each of us sardonically.
“So, now people like me and Char can’t say anything at all which goes against the grain.” Jennifer bowed her head. She and her twin were of a different generation to the rest of us, and felt the full brunt of what we’d lived through and allowed to be.
“I’m sorry to both of you, Jen. My generation tried to speak up but it was like our words were arrows falling to the ground shy of our target every time. No matter what, we couldn’t get through. No matter who, we weren’t heard.”
“I don’t think anyone ever thought it would become as bad as it has,” Annabelle said sadly, looking over the table to the twins. “To the point where a woman cannot openly speak what’s on her mind without being shot down.”
The seven of us were quiet, each lost in her own thoughts. I contemplated what I should have done when I had a chance. But having watched so many women who’d once been revered, being viciously attacked verbally for daring to speak out; watching as people hid behind their screens and pilled on their abuse and aggression towards those women – online, in public speeches, in the media. I’d allowed fear to stop me: What hope did anyone like me have. A nobody.
“We could see what was happening. But felt helpless,” Annabelle softly spoke into the silence.
As I turned back to Vee, ready to pick up where we’d left off, there was a commotion at the door. A man walked in, though he’d altered his appearance with a soft red wig, tumbling down his shoulders in waves. It made his face seem paler than it perhaps would have been, with the natural dark blond of his natural colouring betrayed by his eyebrows. The make-up he’d applied was harsh against his skin, giving him an austere look.
“Ahh ladies. Here’s where we’re hiding, is it.”
“This is a private conversation,” I stood as I addressed him, “between friends.”
“And yet, the door was locked. So, I can only wonder what you were discussing.”
“Oh!” Jessica exclaimed, bringing her hands to her face. “You look exactly like J.K. Rowling.”
“Oh good. Because that’s who I now identify as.”
The twins stared at him in disbelief. The rest of us looked round at each other.
“She messed up,” he explained taking us all with his piercing dark eyes as he strode around the table, before stopping in front of me. He was much taller than I was. A good two decades younger.
“She was cancelled,” I said. “So now you’re her?”
“Yes… I am going to be a better version of her.”
How we are assessed so much by what we wear or don't wear, is the problem! Look at a woman's skills in the workplace, not at her outfit. Look at what she contributes to the business, instead of what she's contributing to fashion. Look at her huge amount of potential instead of the huge height she's bought. 
youcantslouchinheels 