Everywhere I look, her folklore blooms unchecked. I weave through clusters of attendees and try not to catch their eyes, try not to imagine what they’d say if I dared tell them the truth, shattering the mirage.
Probably nothing, honestly. They’d either accuse me of lying outright or use the same tired excuse. She’s acomplex figure.
Women can never win.
Haters gonna hate.
There’s room for nuance in her legacy.
Her good far outweighs her bad.
There’s no perfect person, only one who tries.
I feel as if I’m going to be sick as I weave through the crowd, hands clenched into fists, face stoic. I have to blend in. In the corner, there’s a wall of framed work. Poems inspired by Ralston.
I scan a few, printed in black-and-gold cursive.
Mother—because she fought for my future without knowing my name
Sister—because now we fight side by side for the same justice
Friend—because she gave me a word for my struggles, told me I wasn’t alone
Hero—because she never asked for anything, only for the world to be kinder to us all
And another.
She names the wound and the woman,
Calls the blood and pain a beginning,
teaches us how to stitch our own skin shut while never giving up the fight
And another.
Ralston.
R is for Redefining what it means to be a woman
A is for All of us or none of us
L is for a Lifetime fighting for people she will never meet
S is for the Sisterhood she built for us, reminded us of
T is for the Top of the mountain, reaching down to help us with our climb
O is for One chance to leave this world better than we found it
N is for Never giving up or in
I hate it. I hate this. My eyes burn as I turn away, throat aching and preparing to leave, when someone in the crowd shrieks. A cheer follows. Then applause.
My heart drops even before I see her. I know what the sound means.
Ralston has arrived.
She walks in like she’s the freaking queen, as if she’s been delivered to us straight from the heavens. Arms outstretched as if planning to embrace us all at once, she’s dressed in a tailored mauve coat that falls perfectly around her ankles. Her blondehair is pinned back behind her ears, curled up at the ends so she looks like a fifties housewife.
