A List of Bodies
"Three of Swords" by Ellery D Margay
Body One: You were thirteen and ok—face legs waist. All just ok. But you were what he wanted: untouched, and in a vacant lot past midnight, he stood wide and close to you on your knees as you avoided staring directly at it, poking out from the tent of his jeans.
He didn’t hand you whiskey, only bought it. He didn’t sneak you out of the house, only had a license and car. He didn’t ask or tell you to give him head. Only dared you.
You worried about how to let him down, easy, because you’d been told to respect your elders, to not say anything if nothing nice could be said. To be polite. Not powerful. No out-path seemed right—not even a simple, firm NO—so you kneeled in gravel, frozen for minutes.
Unwilling to give in but terrified he would call you chicken.
When he tired of waiting, he zipped-up and left you on your knees, and when you stood you left a little girl’s body in the dirt. (He never touched, but didn’t he? Like the way your brother held a finger an inch from your nose, saying not touching as he inflicted harm with only the promise of it.)
***
Body Two: At prom, you looked like a giant cherry. High-waisted, deep burgundy gown with a full fluff skirt. You were on an upswing, weight wise, balancing bouts of binge eating with lulls lacking movement.
You were happy, generally, you told yourself, but sadness had a creep difficult to clock, and when your date never asked you to dance, you heard the in-between words anyway: the pillowy silhouette of your dress enhanced your softness.
After high school you locked the prom dress body in a closet in a basement in a home you hoped your parents would sell. (But why did he ask you to the dance if he didn’t want to touch, knowing you would’ve said yes to being twirled?)
***
Body Three: You became rage. Lean and fit. Running in college you ran so hard so far so long, you ran your hips into so much pain a white-haired doctor told you, you shouldn’t run you can’t run why would you run. You don’t even look like a runner.
You decided to become a rock and took up boxing. Perfected jump rope routines. Hired a personal trainer. Who motivated you by talking about himself—kids divorce custody—and how you could bench-press yourself into something he desired.
You shed the runner and the rock body somewhere along a wooded trail you knew you’d never find again. (But they only touched you in the way they learned to—to disabuse you of your best self—and then rolled it into a calling a degree a profession.)
***
Body Four: You weren’t ugly, and at the company Christmas lunch he told you, you weren’t ugly. You hadn’t asked. He told you he would do you. You hadn’t offered. He told you he was serious—he would do you right then. You hadn’t dared him, nor had your milky gray slacks, but he was your boss, and you had been beneath him for years. Fuck off felt too easy too powerful too impolite.
You drank your drink. Fled. Flagged a cab, and threw your coat into it, sending the working girl’s body on a journey to join the others, who stood as you stood. Shivered as you shivered. Cried as you cried, and together finally found voice enough to ask, How many more bodies must we hide?
About the author
K.M. McCorkendale is a DC-based, Missouri-bred writer who manages proposals by day and writes in her spare time. She was a critic for DC Theatre Scene, writes for Atlanta's annual Dragon Con, and, in 2020, wrote her first short story after a long hiatus from creative writing. Her work has appeared in Split Lip Magazine and the Boston Review, and she is a DCCAH Arts and Humanities Fellow (2024) and alumni of the Bread Loaf Writers Conference and the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop.
About the artist
Ellery D Margay is a fiction writer, poet, and mixed media collage artist with a passion for finding the beauty in all things dark and strange. His aesthetic influences range far and wide—the natural lines of art nouveau, the intricate drama of Gothic and baroque architecture, the symbolism of the surrealists, and the lush gold and jewel tones of ancient times—all with a sharp modern edge. In pursuit of a cohesive theme or meaning, he pairs found objects and antiques with sculpture, bones, butterflies, beetles, and painted details, often hiding snippets of his original poetry in the background or around the frame. Though relatively new to the art world, he is proud to say that his work has already been featured in four publications.