the weakerthans

this sandy-haired, round-eyed girl is no bigger than a flea. i don't want him to think i'm weak she tells me, flexing her tones and stressing the word weak. negative word. fragile, delicate, dependent ... we are trained to think a steel heart implies strength of character, yet when is there time to lapse? to be vulnerable? i only get stronger when i recognize my weakness, i tell her, and chop another onion. the tears spurt unwillingly. am i being weak? i ask. i guess so. i'm also being honest. my body recognizes the need to cry. it's healthy. you have to be strong in order to undo the latch to your own heart, and let the floodgates swing wide. we sit down and eat. am i being weak by admitting i'm hungry? i query, watch this tiny frame of a girl fill her insides with food. perhaps, but it takes strength to admit we need something, to recognize we can't do life alone. she nods, the bread bulging out her cheeks like a chipmunk, and smiles. vulnerability, unrealized.