Ghosting

I read Cracked. Mostly, I really enjoy it. But I have to be choosy. Because some of the guys on there are not ironically anti-feminist, but clueless, marginal-misogynists. Not hating the female, but not giving the non-male POV so much as a byyourleave. Not hateful, merely neglectful.

I refer specifically to a recent one about obvious stereotypes, one being that women are the ones who believe in ghosts. As a stereotype, I have to admit, in our modern western culture, it's probably predominantly right. But the writer never considers what I see as a pretty obvious reason. Women are at home more. They are taught to be fearful and aware, to protect themselves from violent crime on the streets. In their own homes the fear doesn't evaporate, but takes on odd forms. I remember being young, in my own place, and occasionally getting myself badly spooked. I knew better, but alone at night, those ordinary if inexplicable noises take on a sinister air.

And for women with a spouse and child, a husband out of town would be an occasion for anxiety. A quiet house, children to defend, seeing ghosts isn't rational, but it is understandable.

Amazing to me is how, here, I can walk about with few or no lights anywhere, and I can find my way so well. It really has only been a month. Still, I think of how, when I was a child, or a young woman on my own, and the darkness and shadows, the creaks and sighs of this house, would have had me wanting to hide under the covers, or turn on every light and put on loud music. I remember that urge, which no longer applies. The memory intact, the emotion long ago evaporated. I feel like saying "huh. well, it used to be there... " All gone, but knowing it once mattered.

This place is haunted, but only in the way of anything that has survived so long, intact. Stories, for those who will listen, vaguely whispering, writing on the floor, in the damage, under the paint.