17. Yemen. 2011.
Today I see another man who refuses to see me.
Today was my last day of school.
Tomorrow is my engagement party.
Sunday is my last day as a girl who revels in her little freedoms.
Monday is the unknown variable. My life rendered a function that will not reach its end until he manipulates it, changes it.
To find “x” all I must do is look for what I already have. The information given.
“Y” is equal to the sister I watched leave the house with tear stained cheeks – turned red the next time I visited. I asked why – the last time I visited. It is equal to the unwanted embrace I see her husband take from her. Equal to my fathers pockets now lined with cash in exchange for his daughter. His blood for money.
The exponent – the power of 2. Power given to my father and the man who does not look at me. But owns me. Two. The number of children I should have already had by now. Two. The seconds it takes for me to realize the reality of my situation. Two. The minutes it takes for him to disrobe. Two. The hours I lay awake, next to his sweaty body, completely unfeeling.
The constant – never changing, remaining still. Always there. Hovering. Constantly watching, calculating, warning, threatening. I cannot get rid of it if I tried. I cannot run from it if I try. If it goes away, if it decides to leave – worse yet, if it catches me sneaking away – that will be the end. The whole equation becomes destroyed and completely warped.
So to find “x” I must allow all the other information to work itself out. Just as those before me have done. They seem to have figured it out and who am I to critisize such a studied and thorough platform. The restrictions have been set – both domain and range clarified for me in the contracts I sign with a foreign hand. All of this used to be foreign to me, the variables, the exponents, all of it. But I grew used to it.